Switch
by Nikholas F. Toledo Zu
Summary: [Switch] A trilogy of what-ifs, why-nots and whodunits.
1. Herbs and Spices: Prologue


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * FIRST FIC * FIRST FIC * FIRST FIC * FIRST FIC * FIRST FIC * FIRST FIC *
    ------------------------------
    A Ranma 1/2 Fan Fic
    ------------------------------
    Switch
    by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    ------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny-weeny thanks to whoever else
    even saw this.
    ------------------------------
    In case I forget to say so, this story was recycled 100% post-consumer
    story, using a Switch Regressor AS-07, set on medium mayhem. No aliens
    were injured, molested or met during the story. Parental guidance is
    weird.
    ------------------------------
    The Vector Mark of Approval is the foremost seal of excellence of NFT
    fics. The freshness, correctness, and F-ness of each work pass through
    rigorous tests of labial dexterity and cognitive consistency. Grammar
    checked and taste tested by the highly esteemed board of Vector, Editor-
    in-Chief. (No small thanks to Peggy Stonnel who read it without knowing
    what she was getting into and ended up knowing more about the language.)
    ------------------------------
    Herbs and Spices is the first story arc of the complete Switch story.
    Consult the stars to find out when the rest of this tale will unfold:
    Lovers and Friends; and, Odds and Ends. Brought to you by NFT Fics.
    ------------------------------
    Book I: Herbs and Spices
    ------------------------------
    Day 1
    In an almost perfectly rectangular district of Tokyo, popular to
    many tourists, aliens and all-around weirdoes, it is quiet. It is quiet
    only because it is almost three in the morning. It is exactly the time
    of day when even perverts aren't around doing their jobs.
    Needless to say, the town heals.
    It is in these hours when those who are indeed awake (while
    fighting unimaginable forces to run amok stealing underwear of the
    opposite gender [if possible], to make a public nuisance of one's self,
    or, in the very least, to make a fool of one's self in the process) think
    of the prospects of leaving said district for the nearest, but safest,
    asylum.
    While pondering in the exact three minutes and forty-nine seconds
    of bliss, the nightmare begins again.
    In the Tendo anything-goes dojo grounds, three figures stumble to
    wakefulness. In the interests of those within the house, these three
    have promised (silently, of course) to not go about bashing each other's
    heads in before sunrise. They take their respective baths, dress up, and
    leave for the dojo proper in a matter of half an hour.
    The proper anything-goes warm-up set involves many rigorous
    exercises, done at about four speed in order to maximize what's
    equivalent to twenty times as much. After another half-hour, they begin
    their basic katas.
    At this time, the eldest Tendo girl would have woken up, taken her
    bath, and summarily assessed any property damage for maintenance and
    control.
    After the three in the dojo finish with their basic katas, they up
    the tempo into the specialized movements trademarked by the school,
    interspersed with sparring matches informally opened and ended. They
    would take breathers afterward, at which time, they descend upon the
    house for their first breakfast.
    The food left upon the table by Kasumi would be the normal training
    breakfast; she would have been starting upon the breakfast that would be
    served to the family. The three attack the food like stalkers, then give
    thanks to the cook.
    Nabiki would then invariably wake, noting that the unexciting parts
    of the day have elapsed. She would then take a bath, much to the dismay
    of the three sweaty eaters. She knew this, and this was why she did
    this.
    Through all this, Happosai would be sleeping. After an additional
    two hours of sleep, he would begin warming up for another day of reaping
    the joys of womanhood.
    Akane, as most of us know, wakes up at the drop of sunrise. Today,
    she had woken up to find out what the fuss was all about in the bath.
    It was Ranma's turn in the bath when the sun finally came for its
    daily rounds. He had to survive yet another summer's regimen of
    industrious training. He craved it, sure, and when his father had
    implied that he was becoming soft for being groggy this morning, he had
    shown him who really was soft. Not too much before sunrise, though. Had
    to give the girls time to sleep, Mr. Tendo said. Now that's someone who
    cares. Mr. Tendo. Though he does tend to overreact... *yawn*
    Removing his boxers and tank top, he reached for the door into the
    bath. He set the gi on a shelf to keep it dry. Through the fog in the
    bath, he could see only a fuzzy reflection in the mirror. It was good,
    in a way, because he hadn't exactly gotten proper sleep for a week now.
    He'd just look awful. With all the panty raids, beach "outings" and
    overall mayhem the little lech causes in the summers, he couldn't afford
    to sleep much. Thank God that this summer was only three weeks long, and
    the next one comes in four months.
    A restful dozer in the bath did not see the female enter.
    Nerima is one of those rectangular patches of land on Earth that
    strictly adheres to the notion of defying nature. The climate of this
    area is accelerated in such a way that four or five years of weather pass
    through annually. This is not as unusual as another such patch of earth
    in China, whose climate is diametrically opposed to the weather of the
    nearby areas. Thus, in what is normally winter, the swath of land is in
    summertime, and vice versa.
    And, as people in Nerima know, the Chinese are a weird sort.
    Anyone who's come from there has had something wrong happen to them.
    Which made them fit in quite well here.
    Mousse blinked. He could tell he was upside down because his head
    felt heavy. Feeling for balance, he righted himself. It was morning in
    balmy Nerima, and he noted this while clearing the trash (which he
    evidently slept in last night) to locate his glasses.
    He didn't want to remember why he was here, because the details
    were unimportant. He had lost. Again. To whom and why, it didn't
    matter. It could have been Ranma, to take Shampoo from his clutches. Or
    Shampoo, just because she would. Or Cologne, for Shampoo. Or any of
    those other people.
    He sat down, his head in his hands. It wasn't that he hasn't
    trained - he was still the undisputed master of hidden weapons. But he
    was disheartened. He could not claim for his own his love. Neither
    could he defeat the one who has stolen her heart. It wasn't really fair.
    Returning to all fours, his hands find his glasses. Sighing, he
    returned to the Cat Cafe. The workday was about to begin anew.
    Soun Tendo had just had his bath, thank you. He had also finished
    his daily training, which meant that he was only waiting for the day to
    lazily stretch out before him. The master would be going out by now,
    seeing that he avoided taking breakfast with the family. It would be
    much, much safer if they could tag him before he could do damage, but the
    little freak just liked it rough (something he had coined from Ranma,
    which he was laughing about before the master saw him; afterwards, he
    just couldn't quite see why it was so funny). They had to go out and
    search for him while peaceably asking the gods to take him now, or at
    least stop him from doing what they knew damn well he was doing.
    He was hoping that whoever had just shouted could wait until after
    breakfast to do bodily harm, the training was starting to get to him.
    The man had trouble sleeping. He was not going to like these
    changes life was giving him, he believed. Things would start to become
    boring once more, and he would have to leave. His itinerary was marked
    out, and it was so troublesome to find out that life was going to be so
    continually downhill. At least one can find a way to keep out of the
    headlines.
    But, to reminisce on the things that were. Yes, things were
    exciting. It just helped that the man knew what was going to happen.
    Yes, exciting indeed.
    P-chan had had a relatively restful night, as he had gotten used to
    the way Akane slept. The day before ended well, with the cacophony of
    agony and jellied bones. And the fact that he was where he wanted to be,
    not in a state of transition. Here was where he was, and that was all
    that mattered.
    A contented bwee escaped him, and the bed rustled slowly under him.
    A small shift of weight, and then the feel of the hot wind through cool
    silk assailed him. Not knowing better, he drifted comfortably back into
    sleep.
    Kasumi had just arranged breakfast in the living room, and was in
    the process of waking up the sleepyheads, when the shriek erupted. The
    pitch was perfect, and so was the throw, from what arc of smoke she could
    determine from the hallway window. Ranma again joined the avian species
    in projectile motion, preparing to land in a one-point bone-jarring
    manner.
    The shrieker, Akane, had returned to her quarters in a most Akane
    manner, which meant that whoever was asleep was not anymore. The elder
    sister just replied, "Breakfast is ready," and scooted downstairs to call
    Dr. Tofu.
    
    Nabiki espied the newspaper on the dojo's front doorstep. She
    shoved the paper away into a trash bin, and then took out a similar one.
    With a small smile, she went back in.
    
    The doctor's clinic was open this early for only one reason,
    nowadays, and it was coming on time, via air mallet. This practice
    befell the reason, but since Ranma was associated with the Tendos', it
    was better safe than sorry, and so a four-hour delay was usually given to
    even dare to peek inside, lest be caught by the young healer in a haze.
    A peaceful cloud lay in wait of the blushing young boy entering an
    anterior non-orifice. After being so rudely interrupted, it spat out a
    topless dew-soaked goddess, and moved on to consider wreaking chaos on
    the plans of men (and woman) with curses.
    Ranma was getting better at receiving crash injuries, the doctor
    mused while watching the swan dive. Almost just like a Volvo. He
    dragged the younger martial artist into his offices.
    Ranma-chan had fallen in a towel he grabbed on his way out,
    exchanged it, upon revival, for a set of clothes he had left the last
    time he was here, and was seated on an examining table in the office,
    only looking irked, but half-asleep. Dr. Tofu guessed that time was due
    for some healthy man-to-man talk with the boy, since it was the doctor's
    duty to prevent injury whenever possible.
    Stopping his train of thought to get on the subway of action, he
    sat down slowly on the table which the teen-ager sat on. His mind said
    the obvious. "What happened with you and Akane, Ranma?" the doctor
    opened suddenly.
    "That tomboy must have thought I was peeping on her again."
    The doctor smirked at the line. "Do you peep on Akane?"
    Ranma-chan whirled on the table. "NO! Uh... I mean, no. But that
    doesn't stop her from thinkin' so."
    Tofu turned. "And why would she think that?"
    "Because she's so thick-headed! You can't get through to her."
    The female began to rant. "... egged-on paranoid, utterly unfeminine,
    and obnoxiously redundant!" he finished with a flourish.
    "Yes, yes, you've said that," the doctor calmly acceded. "But
    haven't you even tried to make amends with her? Convinced her of your
    innocence?"
    "Oh, yeah, sure. Try talking to the business end of an industrial
    strength mallet, for all the good it'll do you."
    "How about something else? How about trying to talk about it...
    without the insults?"
    "It's not that easy," he sat down, immediately deflated. "She
    won't even give me a chance..."
    Again, the smirk appeared. "So, you're saying you're trying to get
    along with her?"
    "Of course I am. We've been living at the dojo for almost four
    summers now. We even trash the place every couple of weeks, when the
    latest 'terror' comes up," the depression resurfaced. "I'm getting so
    tired of this."
    "Of what?"
    "The fights. The destruction. The roofs," he said, rubbing his
    bottom and nape. "I don't know what we're waiting for. We can't go home
    to mom, for one. But we've always been on the road. This isn't helping
    any."
    The doctor stood to face the redhead. "Ranma, I've been here for
    years now. And I've had no trouble practicing martial arts. Being on
    the road doesn't change anything except the places you tend to call home.
    But we both know why you haven't left for the road, yet."A
    melodramatic pause. Zoom in on the doctor's expression of authority.
    "You've found a place to call home."
    Genma had heard the ruckus and, knowing that training would not be
    continued this morning, went to the bath for his morning toilette.
    Something had been biting at him for a few days now. How the
    master had kept turning up in places far in-between. How they had had
    days of inactivity. How his son (the no-good ingrate) had been feeling
    weak in the past days.
    Something fishy was happening, he was sure. But what he wasn't
    sure of was the feeling of something has happened which has pervaded the
    air.
    He scoffed at it. It was, as he knew, only the weather, and Ranma
    (the weak-kneed idiot) was quite under it. Foolish boy! Weather
    preparation is in the training of the anything-goes school. Be it rain
    or sleet, hail or snow... whatever.
    He brushed up and then went hairy.
    It was all Ranma-chan could do to keep from laughing into the good
    doctor's face. Which was enough to convey the self-same sentiment
    crystal clear.
    Tofu pushed his wire-rimmed glasses towards the bridge of his nose.
    "I knew you wouldn't agree." He stared into blue irises. "You can't.
    Or at least would deny it. Among other things."
    He gave the youngster the kettle he had been holding behind him
    with a meaningful look. Pretending he didn't notice and not even
    bothering to turn his head back, Ranma gave his thanks and left for the
    dojo.
    Ukyo had woken up, all alone. Not that any self-respecting nubile
    (which meant marriageable, she kept reminding herself) young woman would
    want to get caught with someone else in bed. But she desperately needed
    a hug. It was something she was looking for quite a while since she had
    first set foot in the district.
    Every morning, as had been her yen, she would invariably look for
    her mother and father to hug and feel important and special to. That was
    before she had left to avenge her broken heart. Had she succeeded? No,
    she thought bitterly. Here she was, nursing the same heart, broken by
    the same boy from years ago.
    She got up drowsily, hours before the diner would open. Way too
    early, but early enough to get in some good and fresh positive attitude.
    She stared back at the futon. Yes, it couldn't be wasted on the
    dreamland.
    On her way out, she nearly stumbled over a slowly mobile object of
    lower-shin height. She had to rub her eyes to realize that the black
    blot was actually Akane's little pet pig.
    Now, while she had her differences with Akane, she had no real
    anger for the girl, and only the same affections for her little black
    piglet. The sight of the pet sleepwalking almost made her laugh out
    loud, but a better idea bloomed. She lightly picked the darling little
    porkchop by the bandanna (?), and settled it back with her into the bed.
    She only hoped Akane wouldn't find the munchkin in her possessive embrace
    while she decides to return to slumber. With P-chan's snout slightly
    nuzzling her breast, with contented bweees of happiness, she fell asleep
    again.
    Cologne could not exactly figure out why she had woken up with a
    smile, but, somehow, she figured that she could find out why soon enough.
    She went to wake up Shampoo for today's training.
    The Kuno residence lay blissfully ignorant.
    


	2. Herbs and Spices: First Flick


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A Ranma 1/2 Fan Fic
    ------------------------------
    Switch
    by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    ------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny-weeny thanks to whoever else
    even saw this.
    ------------------------------
    Book I: Herbs and Spices
    ------------------------------
    Day 1
    First Flick
    Ranma returned to the dojo to find the breakfast Kasumi had
    spirited away when the more bottomless members of the household were not
    aware. Mumbling thanks, he decided to eat at racehorse speed before
    retiring to the bath to return to more comfortable trappings (all the
    while avoiding Akane). The coast being clear, he had hoped the rest of
    the day would be as uneventful. It was a useless wish, but someone had
    to ask, and it could just as well have been him.
    He couldn't have been more safe, as Akane had already donned her
    gi, and was taking the strain out on her hollow blocks. Her rhythm
    belied the concentration on the mantra as a focus, but telepathic
    inspection would reveal that the mantra was, in fact, "Ranma baka."
    After dishing out the last of her anger replaced with a warm glow of
    indignation, she felt herself go loose. Pepped up, she bounded up on the
    balls of her feet and started priming for a workout.
    The good thing about indignation is that the mind is clear to focus
    on the matter of a problem, without release of heat from the argument.
    The kata brought her body into a trance, which freed her mind to connect
    with the events of the day's destruction. Ranma was in the bath again,
    peeping on her. But there was something wrong with her recollection of
    his face in the fog-filled bath. It was ... wrong. As though there was
    something there he was hiding behind. Hiding behind what? Then he was
    peeping! But he was just sitting there, slightly sagging forward, facing
    her naked form. That pervert! Except, she couldn't shake the feeling
    that he wasn't exactly peeping. Or that it wasn't him. Or something.
    She finished her kata, then went straight out into the streets to
    jog a few miles. If she had just happened to turn right instead of left
    as she departed the house, she would have probably crossed paths with a
    confused looking pet of hers.
    Ryoga cursed his luck. He was sure that his disorientation with
    the apparent change of his sleeping area had blinded him to the straight
    and true path to the bathroom. He held his head low, for he was sure
    that it would take another week to return to the dojo. He held his path
    forward, and therefore was farther from the corner where the dojo was. A
    few blocks hence, he started to wonder whether to change back into human,
    before something unsavory happened to him. The next left he took brought
    him facing the Cat Cafe.
    Incredible forces had changed his luck, it seemed, so he entered
    through a window into the basement, so as to avoid the Amazons within.
    The aforementioned Amazons were, in fact, preparing the menu for
    the day, whilst the industriously conniving Shampoo was deciding what to
    feed her future husband. Cologne had let her go early, as it was summer,
    and that men tended to eat more frequently in the mornings, i.e. a chance
    to take the groom once and for all was presenting itself. Shampoo had
    picked a recipe which required, unfortunately, eggs. She sighed. Mousse
    had done all sorts of stupid things with the eggs, like stuff them with
    explosives and such, which gave her the right and privilege to beat the
    living daylights out of him. Plus, they were producing way too much
    pastry in her get-laid-quick schemes. Angrily, she sped away to purchase
    a few dozen at the nearby marketplace (which, she could protest, did not
    have fresh poultry shops anymore). Somewhere nearby, Mousse threw away
    the pages of recipes that did not require eggs, and went to help Cologne.
    Tsubasa held the fillers which held some decades of secret Amazon
    alchemy which concerned enchantments of the heart, with some doubt. He
    could not, and would not, force his beloved Ukyo to love him if it wasn't
    real. He would try, yet again, to let her see how she could learn to
    love him, but never, ever without her conscious consent. It would be too
    much like forcing himself upon her, and the thought would never cross his
    mind, normally.
    He threw the neatly inked Chinese texts, with the disgust of
    incomprehension, into a nearby (real) garbage can and then changed his
    disguise into one of a telephone pole. He was starting to run out of new
    and innovative disguises which he could use to get closer to the
    Ucchan's, but somehow, one weirdo or another would pass him by, and he'd
    have to assume an inanimate position, which would be normally abused, as
    property damage was particularly high in the area. He's been careful,
    then, to use one of the lesser passed routes. This one took a rather
    long swath of walk into the zoo.
    He successfully changed from the pole, to a signpost which read
    "Osaka this way", then into a statue of a horse, finally into a park
    bench, before entering the zoo. He quickly peeked. There were lots of
    people, especially children, in the crowd which formed a knot in the area
    near the gate. Wearing a bamboo shoot, he edged closer to the crowd,
    with hopes of leaving quite rapidly.
    Genma was grinning ear to ear, something he would not do normally.
    But he was having a hard time concealing his joviality. As a panda, he
    felt he could be his true self, free as the wind. Although he was
    getting hungry, he was starting to enjoy the various attentions the
    little squawking children were raining upon him. A little nervous pat
    here, some weak (but heartfelt) rappings on the other side, little tugs
    here and there, but all the laughter was becoming infectious. Just a few
    more moments, and the secret Saotome free-food-will-come philosophy would
    see justice. And with a turn of his head, he noticed the bamboo shoot
    approaching him. Gratefully thanking Kami-sama, he took it and bit off.
    There is a heaven, he thought. But a rather surprising view of
    someone he didn't exactly want to see yet arrived, reminding him that
    heaven wasn't where he wanted to be going to quite yet.
    Nodoka passed by a weird-looking bamboo with an arm with the sleeve
    of a girl's dress sticking out from it. Some people were staring at it
    bug-eyed, but most of them just took it as nothing out of the ordinary.
    It must be some sort of street play or another unorthodox impromptu,
    which could explain the panda. Obviously, someone took care of building
    a fine panda suit, but the outstanding human traits of pantomimed fear
    were enough to show the skill in acting of whoever had donned the suit.
    Funny, though. This panda-suited actor seemed familiar. She shrugged.
    It was all that she couldn't distinguish between this obviously fake
    panda and Ranko's pet. She could swear that there was a connection, but
    the more pacifying edge of taking care of a martial arts family kicked
    in, and explanations would come, later if not sooner.
    She exited the zoo, hugging her groceries tightly. She remembered
    with some amusement the purple-haired foreigner (she had this funny
    accent) who practically blew up when she couldn't find any eggs.
    Apparently, she hadn't heard of the recent shortage due to the fear of
    poultry shop owners that the animals in Nerima had acquired something
    akin to the mad cow disease (insane sightings of animals duking it out
    with people and themselves), but with less discrimination (a pig, a cat,
    a panda and a duck were among others mentioned). So, live poultry had to
    be removed first, since they were used all over the district, and might
    spread this disease quicker than any other animal group. So eggs in
    Nerima will not return until the end of this summer. Nodoka was partly
    glad of her intuitive skills, which allowed her to stock a crate of eggs
    a few days before.
    She probably couldn't eat them all, she thought, passing by the
    restaurant district. She might visit the Tendos' sometime soon. She
    sighed. Maybe she might see her family. She walked on, just before a
    human Ryoga crossed confusedly into the yard of a mansion.
    He knew that the place was familiar somehow, but couldn't place it.
    He been here a couple of times already, but no idea of where he was
    popped up. This was close to the dojo, he was sure of it. Now who to
    ask.... He wandered off not quite sure if he was still within the
    grounds because he had seemingly stepped into a forest.
    Off in the branches, Sasuke giggled. Then he gave up and belted a
    full blast guffaw, with some chuckles and wheezy high-pitched nasal
    sounds for flavor. It was important, the master said, to laugh, in which
    he had taught all the servants to have a particular laugh. He had not
    spared the children either, thus a person could distinguish any member of
    the Kuno household from any other by way of their laughter.
    It was perfect. He knew this one, who had been hounding mistress
    Akane, albeit from afar. He had often fought young Saotome (he spat, as
    a reflex taught to him by his current master) for her hand, and has, to
    date, not satisfactorily beaten him. To catch him upon the hallowed
    grounds of the Kuno estate was a sure sign of skullduggery and
    underhanded tactics, of which Sasuke would not become a party to by
    omitting his duty to his lord and liege.
    He haggled over which trap he could operate on the young trespasser
    could be the most appropriate for the intruder while switching places
    amongst the branches, keeping an eye on Ryoga. Impaling was out of
    style, and any chemicals would be criticized from technique to usage by
    mistress Kodachi, and any mistake would be intolerable. At the mention
    of her name, an idea struck, which he sought to implement by going ahead
    of his prey.
    Kuno was practicing the basic katas, while honing his wit by
    composing soliloquies on the often trivial bestiality of man succumbing
    to the tranquil nature of Venus's spring, only to rear its raging forces
    come summertime. It was while he was posing to practice glinting
    sunlight off of various molars, when he heard the branches of the nearby
    trees at his back rustle slightly. Nonchalantly, he turned and swung his
    bokken with the air pressure to hurl an unsuspecting Sasuke into the
    atmosphere. He had missed this spectacle by turning yet again, in order
    to contemplate the void which was his mind. He did this in total
    ignorance of the fact that Ryoga had crossed behind him, only to fall
    into Mr. Turtle's pool.
    The cloud which was on the way to wreak chaos upon the hallowed
    grounds of Kuno was turned about by the body of the manservant.
    Promising revenge, it went to find a regular customer, who had started
    this vicious water cycle.
    Kodachi on the other hand was on her way to the garden/laboratory
    on the other side of the forest. She spied her brother locked in another
    battle of wits with himself, which she feared he was losing. She heard
    some splashing and found that Mr. Turtle was playfully jumping up and
    down in the pond, as if in supplication for its owner's affections. "Not
    now, dear," was all Kodachi said, as she turned, entirely missing the
    little black piggie jumping not quite out of the jaws of death for dear
    life.
    She had found Sasuke napping in a tree in an awkward fashion and
    immediately berated him. He apologized profusely, and asked her if she
    had seen anyone suspicious in the premises. Since she had not noticed
    any, Sasuke wandered off to apprehend the hooligan, after borrowing some
    potions from his mistress. 
    She turned on her heel to enter the greenhouse, noticing slightly
    that Mr. Turtle had just stopped its splashing about. On that note, she
    went to in to continue her latest project, while laughing a happy tune
    (in that distinctive way she does).
    Kuno had gravitated to the pond while his buggy of thought had
    drifted to sailing the high seas, as is his yen in the summers. Truly,
    he would have to invite the pig-tailed girl and Akane, to partake in the
    splendor of the blue deserts and to bask in his undying love. This was
    when he noticed two figures floating in the pool. The larger one was an
    alligator, and the smaller one was that of a piglet. Both were familiar
    as pets, the former of his wretched sister, and the other of the
    beauteous Akane, and in a state of unconscious akin to that after a
    fierce battle. Sensing an opening, he picked up P-chan, and asked Sasuke
    to get him two bouquets of roses from the greenhouse. Sasuke informed
    him that his intolerable sibling was about the area, which meant he had
    to go and get the flowers elsewhere. Grasping his bokken, he left Sasuke
    in pursuit of the missing unwanted visitor, and went to the nearest
    florist's shop.
    As he went in, he had not noticed that the objects of his affection
    had passed by. Upon his arrival at the dojo, he was informed that they
    were on the path to the chiropractor's clinic, and would he mind if he
    went in to wait for them to return? Kasumi was on the way there herself
    to return a book on acupuncture literature. Could he wait inside with
    father?
    The man sighed. Lunch was over, and the day looked grim. He would
    expect no better tomorrow, and knew he would be right. Anyway, in his
    case it was better to live for the past than the future, and so read an
    old newspaper he had acquired in the hopes of finding an adventure in the
    offing.
    


	3. Herbs and Spices: Second Changes


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 02 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny-weeny thanks to whoever else
    even saw this.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Day 1
    Second Changes
    Halfway through the morning already, and Ranma was already done.
    Having snuck into the bathroom (which was unoccupied at the time), he
    quickly disrobed and fell into the hot water which Kasumi had readied.
    For the second time in the day, he felt the same two things:
    first, the drowsy sleep-dark eating away at his mind's eye; second, an
    itchy feeling somewhere above his mouth. To the latter, he raised his
    hand. At first, it was as though it was twined in miso soup, but he
    realized that it was hair. His hair, in fact. He twirled it a bit
    lazily in his hand, and felt the heat eat its way through his lethargy.
    He wondered slightly what his mustache would look like. Maybe he
    should fashion handlebars, or something more like Mr. Tendo's beamer.
    Would it add to his natural pizzazz? As long as it was summer, he could
    grow it as long as he wanted. He'd have to ditch it come schooltime, but
    it might be worth it. He decided on keeping it (some fuzzy edge of his
    mind reminding him to ask Akane how it looked on him), and dried up to
    borrow some shaving cream from his father's stuff. Stepping through the
    bath's door, he donned the loose cotton pantaloons and red shirt he so
    loved to wear.
    As soon as he got to the outer door, though, it was his luck to
    hear Akane bounding down the steps. She sounded more jovial than
    earlier, but things could take turns for the worst (for him).
    He decided quickly to keep in the bath, hoping that his fiancée was
    not going to take a second bath for the morning. His heart sank when he
    realized that she'd just jogged, of course she was taking another bath.
    Panic seized him just as the knock on the door came.
    "H'llo? Anybody in there?"
    He decided to play safe. "Just me."
    "Oh." The sound of defeated purpose hitched on the syllable.
    Ok, so maybe she's mellowed some. "I'm done already. You can use
    the bath."
    The door opened tentatively.
    Akane wasn't very sure what to say. Sure, he'd been in the bath
    when she came in barely covered. But she acted way too quickly when she
    bopped him. Not even a peep did she hear. So now, she was giving him at
    least some time to talk (and the mood for it too). Chalk one up for
    Nabiki in techniques of manipulation and human emotion.
    She wasn't expecting the equivalent of seeing Ranma wearing a
    Groucho mustache gone wild.
    "What is that?" she nearly shouted.
    Ranma looked around, on the alert. "What? Where?"
    "On your face, Ranma!"
    Ranma stopped swinging around wildly. "Oh, you mean this." His
    mind was racing. Did she like it? Was she terrified? What was it that
    made her not so quite scream?
    "It's a mustache?" she asked plaintively.
    "Of course it is, you lamebrain! Just grown in today. What did
    you think it was?" He was halfway indignant, and halfway confused.
    Akane almost smoldered at the crack, but kept to herself at the
    second comment. "Look at yourself, dummy!"
    He turned to face the mirror that was across the room, in the bath.
    It was as big as one grown for three months, with the whiskers
    tickling his cheeks. It reminded him of walruses, which made the
    position all the more fishy.
    Akane was a hair's breadth ahead of his analysis. "Is it the
    dragon hair?"
    He nodded. That dragon hair had quite given him a run for his
    money, and it was coming for a rematch.
    Akane sighed. So that's why she felt wrong about judging his
    presence earlier. She gave him a heavy *scrunch* (because it was him
    after all), let him out the door, and took her bath in peace.
    Happosai knew exactly what to do.
    He gleefully bounded up and down the neighborhood, every once in a
    while grabbing a brassiere or a thong which happened to be lying about,
    regardless of whether or not someone was using it at the moment. He
    began to leave a trail of mayhem the others were sure to trace in no
    time. He laughed. They'd need it, and when they finally get to him,
    he'll be ready.
    A moment's inattention caused him to bump into a bamboo plant,
    knocking it down. (what was a bamboo plant doing in the middle of the
    road, anyhow?) He grunted. These things weren't exactly cloth sacks,
    but you've got to move with the times. Frilly little things were much
    more soothing to the touch when they're colder. Getting up, he bounded
    leaving a thoroughly disgruntled Tsubasa wondering what he'd ever done to
    deserve this.
    A few minutes later, Ranma was in bandages, and up to his shoulders
    in facial hair.
    Akane came down into the living room, then snootily turned her head
    in the diametric opposite Ranma. She then sat down beside him (kind of
    hard to be angry at a guy you have to sit next to) in disgust.
    Disgust soon turned into concern as she saw the scowl on Ranma's
    face. Nabiki and Kasumi had interrogated him on the "new look" and from
    the way he avoided her guarded gaze, she could tell what the last
    question was.
    Kasumi then added, while bringing in the tea for midmorning, "why
    is it so long, then? I didn't notice it yesterday."
    Ranma wondered if she noticed nothing or everything. "It's the
    dragon hair I ate. All the hair on my head is growing out again."
    Nabiki took the cup in both hands. "Then why aren't your eyelashes
    growing?"
    Ranma wavered mildly. "Uh... "
    There was a mild laugh somewhere over the idea of Ranma sporting
    long (and curly) eyelashes.
    Akane muttered, "maybe he pulled them out."
    Before Ranma could retort, Nabiki continued, "or your nose hair?
    Or your sideburns?"
    Ranma sweated slightly.
    Kasumi swung nearby, while sweeping the yard. "Maybe because
    dragons don't grow those long."
    Akane faced Nabiki. "How about his beard?"
    A silence wandered in with the wind.
    Kasumi said, sweeping away, "what an awkward silence."
    Ranma slightly sagged forward. "But the problem is it's growing
    and I don't have dragon hairs to tie it to, to stop it."
    At this conjecture, Soun sweepingly entered the room. "Son, you
    may have to pull those hairs out."
    Ranma jumped up and shouted, "what! Don't be ridiculous! That may
    work for white hairs or those, but not on mustaches."
    Akane pulled out a set of used tweezers and clippers. "We can't
    keep pulling at it, or clipping it off."
    Soun consulted his own mustache.
    Nabiki, who had settled into the shadows for solar shielding,
    leaned forward to put in, "why not have Dr. Tofu look at it?"
    Ranma felt himself nodding as he felt cold water running down his
    back. He leered upward to see an upturned glass in Akane's hand. "Jeez,
    Akane. What did you do that for?" The bareness of his face made itself
    felt.
    Akane simply said, "don't feel that groggy now, do you?"
    Ranma-chan's back straightened. She was right.
    She explained, "it's that rampant growth that's been wasting you.
    It's taking too much of your energy."
    Soun beamed, "that's my girl."
    Ranma-chan just nodded. "Then let's make tracks."
    Kodachi looked up from the boiling flask and gave a good shocker of
    a laugh. She was going to get him this time, for sure. She'd had Sasuke
    keep an eye on her Ranma sweetums for sometime now, just to see how the
    wenches were trying to win him over. She had been intrigued enough with
    the use of chemicals, herbs, magic and seduction, but her attention had
    been drawn by the Amazon witch. But the woman was an amateur, as she
    would always have something go wrong in the deliberation and execution of
    her wares. She didn't know enough about how these things should be
    treated. She belted another full-throated symphonic ululation as the
    expense of the purple-haired hussy.
    She slid off the goggles onto the top of her head. Father had been
    overprotective when it came to the use of the facilities of the
    hydroponics lab situated near their greenhouse, and in his recent return
    to the estate (before he left for the other Pacific end for the summer;
    he so loved Nerima) had reiterated the need for safety precautions. The
    liner notes Sasuke had picked up for her (much to his dismay, during his
    manhunt for Ryoga, which he had to postpone) had the translations for the
    neatly written (in Chinese) recipes, but after leafing through the pages,
    she kept only the few which had mostly plant derivative ingredients
    available in the greenhouse. She had wondered why none of them were in
    pastry form, nor had use for eggs, but that line of scheming thought at
    the back of her head had found no practical use for the knowledge. She
    chuckled mildly (for her), then turned back to her burner.
    It was then that the fluids she was cooking realized that they
    (being foodstuffs of respect) had no right to be in powdered form (which
    was what Kodachi had planned of them, since they were easier to use that
    way), and promptly blew up in her face.
    The lab would need cleaning again, thought Kodachi, as she fell
    into a deep slumber immediately.
    Kasumi was removing her 'piyo piyo' apron, and said to Nabiki, "I
    wish they'd told me before they went to Dr. Tofu's. I could've just let
    them take this to him." She raised her left hand to reveal a slightly
    aged book entitled 'Odes to Nodes: Acupuncture During the Romantic
    Period'.
    Nabiki was calmly nibbling on a carrot stick. "I don't know.
    Maybe they're just in a rush to leave us together."
    Kasumi stuck her head in the pantry. "Honestly, they should take
    their time more often. What's coming is coming at its own time," she
    tutored motherly.
    Nabiki headed upstairs. More interesting details were to be worked
    out today, and she was planning to visit the bank. The advertisement
    campaign had ended this morning, late enough to shake the midmorning
    stocks-and-bonds enthusiasts. All would work well, she'd been told.
    This was one scheme she would have to monitor in all phases.
    Kasumi had sojourned to her own quarters, to pick out a decent
    enough dress to wear outside. After picking something light green,
    cottony and loose, she outfitted, then thought of wearing a bonnet which
    matched, but decided otherwise. She stopped in the kitchen to check
    whether the cookies she was baking were done. In the living room, her
    father was watching some morning anime.
    "Father, I'm passing by Dr. Tofu's in while, and I'll be buying
    some groceries."
    "That's good," was the only reply.
    The cookies were done when the doorbell rang.
    "I'll get it," Kasumi said cheerily.
    The door opened to reveal Tatewaki Kuno and P-chan.
    She took one look at the bouquets in his left hand and said, "oh,
    if you're looking for Akane, she just left with Ranma for Dr. Tofu's
    clinic. Why don't you come in?"
    The self-styled modern samurai bowed slightly in acquiescence, then
    entered. He strode into the living room and sat silently on the floor,
    laying both plant and animal on the table. He started to stare
    indignantly at the television.
    Meanwhile, P-chan spotted a way out and deftly took it. He strode
    intently towards the stairs to the upper rooms.
    Kasumi finished placing small decorations on the cookies, and
    placed them on a plate. This she had wrapped in a silk kerchief, and had
    put it in her basket. She stepped into the receiving room. "I'll be
    back in a little while, but father can keep you company," she said,
    referring to Kuno. And with that, she left.
    
    In Dr. Tofu's clinic, Ranma-chan and Akane removed their shoes and
    wore sandals. Seeing that the chiropractor still had no patients, they
    called the doctor at once.
    Dr. Tofu went in with a smile which wasn't lost on the young man.
    "Good morning. Oh, it's Akane and Ranma. What can I do for you this
    morning?" he said with no trace of implication. He started to put on a
    routine he rarely used, but was rarely needed. "Don't tell me one of you
    beat up the other again?"
    As if on cue, Akane began to fidget. Works every time, thought the
    moxibunctionist. Also as if on cue, Ranma-chan began to show the first
    signs of jealousy. That should work him up, returned the thought.
    "It's not that," said the redhead. Moving over to the airpot on a
    cabinet, he poured out some hot water, and immediately doused himself.
    He actually had the satisfaction of registering some glimmer of surprise
    from the older man before he almost fainted.
    Dr. Tofu mildly said, "oh," while Akane rushed to the side of the
    fallen Ranma. It was obvious that the hair growth was taking the strain
    on his energy, noting the aura that surrounded the teen was dim, and the
    amount of growth involved was indeed prodigious, as it hung well down to
    his chest. Steeling himself, the chiropractor quickly reviewed some of
    the pressure points he would have to use.
    Akane propped Ranma up on an examination table, mindful of the
    dangling fibers. He was starting to regain consciousness as Akane asked
    their spectacled companion. "What can you do, doctor?"
    Cracking his knuckles, the doctor replied, "something really
    simple."
    "How simple, doctor?"
    "By pressing several pressure points on the body, localized hair
    growth could be stunted, and even stopped by paralyzing the follicles in
    a relaxed state," calmly said the older man.
    Without another word, he motioned Akane to prop up Ranma's head.
    After pressing some areas near his nape, cheeks and shoulders, he eased
    Ranma into a sleep state, while applying techniques to stunt his mustache
    mayhem.
    After a few ministrations, he was done.
    "Just like that?" asked Akane, slightly incredulous.
    "Well, they'll come off next time he takes a bath, or changes
    gender, and they won't grow anymore, if that's what you're asking," Dr.
    Tofu offhandedly remarked, while wiping his hands with some oil.
    She softly set his head down, allowing herself some time to look at
    his face.
    Noticing Dr. Tofu sitting on another table, she went, voicing,
    "Doctor, I was wondering ..."
    "What is it, Akane?" Dr. Tofu was wearing a face of concern.
    "Wouldn't other areas of his face sprout hair?"
    The practitioner thought for a moment. "No. It seems that his
    hair growth, dictated by the dragon hair he ingested, patterns the hair
    growth of any other dragon, limited to the hair, mustache and beard."
    She thought about her earlier question. "Then why isn't he growing
    a beard, doctor?"
    "It seems that he can't."
    "Why not?"
    "It's all sort of hereditary."
    "You mean my dad shouldn't be able to grow a beard." The latter
    came from a revived Ranma, speaking through hooded lips.
    Dr. Tofu turned to the teen. "Yes."
    "But he's grown one before."
    The doctor notched into a bit more seriousness. "Are you sure?"
    "Yeah. What with it?"
    Tofu pursed his lips. "Nothing. Nothing really. Mutations do
    occur."
    Akane and Ranma stared at the older man with a strange expression.
    Dr. Tofu suddenly burst out laughing. "Hey! Did I do something?"
    Ranma breathed a sigh of relief (through a forest of hair). "Just
    thought that something weird was going to happen."
    This was the moment when Kasumi chose to call in. "Hello?"
    Ranma and Akane jumped at least two feet clear of the young
    professional, whose glasses happened to fog over. Choosing a hasty
    retreat, they managed to completely avoid Kasumi, and barely overheard
    the comments of acupuncture literature and contortionism (apparently, the
    latter being exhibited by the doctor), and the amusement of a young
    houseperson.
    Mousse was on the way to get some vegetables and meatstuffs from
    the marketplace when he had lucklessly chanced upon Ranma's father
    barreling down the road at 85 mph. His only consolation was that he
    hadn't purchased anything yet, and so any groceries that could have been
    victimized by needless violence were spared. The panicked panda had not
    even noticed that he had trampled the young martial artist (who wondered
    obliquely whether martial artists ran into each other more often than
    with other people before fading into unconsciousness accompanying being
    *splut* to the ground), in the mad hunt for his one and only son (as
    uncaring as he was).
    Genma knew at last what the danger signals had forewarned: Nodoka
    was coming. Their chance meeting earlier had cinched it. She was
    planning to stay over at the dojo for at least a week, he could tell.
    The amount of groceries she had been bringing along was much more than
    what she would need in a week, and she hadn't been by in quite a while.
    As per usual, he had to warn his son (the lazy cur) of the impending
    danger, as the presence of his mother had often been accompanied by more
    frequent aquatic exposure, and so forewarned is definitely forearmed.
    He rounded the corner amidst the large-eyed stares of the populace.
    It didn't matter. As long as the boy (as ungrateful as he is) is safe,
    he's safe, too.
    


	4. Herbs and Spices: Third Degree


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 03 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny-weeny thanks to whoever else
    even saw this.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Day 1
    Third Degree
    
    The man smiled. It was just time for lunch, and it would seem that
    plans will be taking effect as they should. The company was now
    financially secured, and the prospects have only to wait, and he was sure
    that she would deliver. He would soon have to meet with her to make the
    arrangements for the stocks, then all will be well in that department.
    Ryoga went out of the bathroom in his saffron shirt, one among
    many. He wondered why it seemed as though in the world of martial
    artists, when they've decided on a form of garb, they seem to stock their
    wardrobes with them. For him, it's always been a case of making sure
    that there's something he could wear in between transformations wherever
    he could be. Ranma's had an ensemble of Chinese shirts he's seen, and
    most of the girls have clothes changes every few days. Mousse has his
    amorphous tunic. Kuno's always wearing that kendo gi, but that's Kuno.
    He sighed. People here get too engrossed sometimes. It'll take days to
    even remember to change.
    Carefully (read: very, very carefully) retracing his steps, he
    went down the stairs into the viewing area. His tumultuous concentration
    was unreasonable at best, attuned to his temper. He had to learn to be
    more calm, he reasoned, if he didn't want to end up in Australia again.
    Keeping the air of a man who would need tearing his arms from his
    shoulders (but the face of decorum; oh yes, decorum must most definitely
    be maintained), he fairly leapt when he felt a tap.
    He was glad he wasn't any more alert than he was, or else, with his
    super martial artist reflexes, he would've knocked Nabiki's block off.
    Some martial artist reflexes. He felt himself cool down. "What do you
    want?"
    Nabiki was wearing some striped shirt and jeans, and her arms were
    crossed in front of her. For the life of him, she looked like she was
    surprised. "I was wondering what you were doing here."
    He knew the opening. "I'm just looking for Ranma. We have a match
    to settle."
    Nabiki put a hand to her chin. "Not another one. You guys seem to
    fight as often than Ranma and Akane."
    He fought to contain the bubbling emotion evoked by the simple
    mention of her name. Oh Akane. "He's always the one who starts it."
    A wide-eyed look leapt to her face. "That's what Ranma says."
    He was starting to get itchy. "All right, Nabiki. What is it you
    really want?"
    Nabiki dropped the bit. "Simple. I just caught you stealing away
    from Akane's bedroom."
    Ryoga's jaw dropped to mildly mid-torso. "You what??"
    Nabiki pursued the tag. "It may escape the attention of most of
    the people in the house, but not from moi." She loosely waved her hand
    towards her chest. Ryoga couldn't help but look raptly at it, his mind
    suddenly at warp 3. Getting caught like that, it was just too careless,
    careless. But at the same time, he ogled Nabiki as a female. It was
    getting too bizarre. "What? When? How?" he muttered through barely
    controllable lips.
    Nabiki noticed how close they were. She dared herself to get even
    closer. "I knew it from the start Ryoga. How you were always here, even
    when Ranma wasn't around, for example."
    Ryoga sweated. He wanted to believe it was the weather, but it was
    ominously clear that it was the fact that he was caught in the headlights
    of one called Nabiki, in more than one way. What he was worried about
    was that the closer she got, the more painfully clear it was that the
    mild scent of perfume was wafting in his nostrils.
    When she got as close as she had, they were standing with Ryoga
    trying to inch slowly up the wall on tiptoes, and Nabiki bent at the
    waist and peering at him, looking like she was going to buy him. There's
    no way out, Ryoga's mind moaned in his soft as jelly ears.
    It was then that Nabiki had an itch on her collarbone.
    As she held her collar, and raised it, the last thing Ryoga saw was
    Nabiki's slender neck, and ...
    Nabiki was glad that she had backed away quickly. Blood seemed to
    be everywhere, just gushing out of Ryoga's nose. Nabiki just smiled.
    She dragged him by the scruff of his neck on the way out. He deserved
    it, she reasoned. She looked back into his face. For being a bad boy.
    My sister doesn't take to perverts easily, so you can't ask me to help
    you there. Besides, I already have plans.
    Soun turned off the set. The morning animes had ended, and the
    early noon news was on. He didn't care for midday information anyhow.
    The best time to take your medicine was in the morning, he always
    thought.
    He stared at the young man across the table. He knew that look.
    He bent over to knock on the kendo champion's head. Empty.
    It would look like young Kuno was going to be around for lunch, he
    thought. Hope he'd have regained consciousness then. Morning anime
    always seemed to have this effect on him.
    He caught the sight of Nabiki dragging along a body. She said,
    "he's just going to join me in going to the bank, daddy. Something about
    protecting and ladies, or something." She lopsidedly smirked.
    Soun just waved her off. "Have a care." He saw her drag the young
    man in yellow away.
    I can only hope she's not after the young man's money this time,
    Soun thought.
    It was about early lunch when the Ucchan's opened. Although
    okonomiyaki was a staple breakfast (and all-around) meal, it was rare
    that people went out to eat that there. One reason was that the
    Ucchan's, along with some landmarks such as the Tendo dojo, the Furinkan
    high school, the Kuno mansion, and the Cat Cafe, were trouble magnets.
    This was mainly because this was where a certain Ranma Saotome would
    visit every so often. Also, there was an oblique loneliness about the
    place which did not bode well for the occupants within. But come lunch
    time, the scent of the secret ingredients and cooking batter held a
    sonata to the nose that almost none could avoid.
    It could be reasoned that the Ucchan's, along with the Cat Cafe,
    both had the distinction of having good food, great entertainment (since,
    in some way or another, all Nerima residents had an insatiable urge to
    watch all-or-nothing fights up close and personal), and terrific service.
    Indeed, a percentage of the regulars would stay there just to ogle at the
    proprietor (or proprietor's relatives or friends). But, Ukyo reasoned,
    they would choose the Ucchan's more often, because it was there they felt
    most at home.
    Ukyo had the personality for small chat and large talks, and knew
    most of the people who came in by face. She felt that the ambiance that
    she had created for the place echoed her need to be among others, and for
    others to be around her. Still, she held herself aloof. Her heart had
    many rooms for others, but the one she was in was always cold, always
    alone.
    She needed someone. She knew, in that same heart, that he lived
    just nearby. His door was open, but never all the way.
    The regulars started pouring in, with a few fresh new faces. A
    little nod or two, some kind words, and some batter and sauce. It was
    the start of a good day.
    The summer heat had forced her to open the windows. Again, the sun
    bridled through without love. She sighed without contentment.
    After an order for two yakisoba was bandied about, and she was
    wondering whether to get a waiter (or waitress), she watched as Akane
    walked in with Ranma-chan. She smiled openly at them, and started to
    make four okonomiyaki along with the soba noodles for the earlier order.
    In five seconds, she had prepared the modern yaki on plates and had
    tossed them with her left hand to the right table. While some thanks
    were shouted from that side, with her right hand she brought the other
    two on plates to where her two classmates sat.
    Ranma-chan spared no expense other than to bellow out thanks before
    engulfing the extra large helping he had been served, while Akane rolled
    her eyes at him. She took a section she had sliced off and bit on it.
    She then tastefully ate it, then turned to talk to Ukyo.
    "How is it?" Ukyo began.
    "It's good," Akane replied, when Ranma-chan added, "as usual." He
    smiled broadly.
    She quickly prepared another generous helping. "What leads you to
    this neck of the woods, at lunchtime? Last I heard, Kasumi was at home."
    With Ranma-chan wolfing down his (first) seconds, the two fiancées
    had to continue the conversation. "She's at Dr. Tofu's," she said
    wistfully. "Now she'll probably be there until a bit later, just to fix
    up a bit."
    "You two were just there, I take it."
    "Yup," she said plainly. Ranma-chan took up the topic, "I had to
    see him about my mustache."
    Some nearby gents overheard the last comment, and turned discreetly
    to pick up on the rest of the conversation. Their hopes were dashed with
    a sharp look from the blue-eyed redhead.
    Ukyo was piqued. "What about your mustache?" Another helping.
    Akane let go of her chopsticks and started applying a napkin to her
    lips. "Apparently, it was being affected by the dragon hair he digested
    some time back."
    "Doesn't it lose effect or something? It was just ingested
    anyhow."
    "I don't know," said Akane, her blue-black hair shining. Ranma-
    chan stared at the two of them. "What's with the 'ingested' and
    'apparently'? You two on the drama club or something? Gettin' ready for
    a play?"
    "You wouldn't know anything," Akane shot back.
    Ranma-chan shrugged, which brought their blooming argument into the
    ground. While he dug into the remains of the last okonomiyaki, Ukyo
    whispered, "there's something wrong with him, all right. He can't carry
    a decent word war with you."
    Akane could only shake her head. "You're right."
    Ranma-chan looked up at the two of them. "What with the two of
    you? Sounds as though my birthday's comin' up or somethin'."
    Ukyo motioned to make two more hefty platefuls. "Maybe it is."
    Ranma-chan took a bite of the first one that came. Then he snapped
    his fingers. "Come to think of it..."
    This had the two other girls straighten. Akane was the one who had
    the nerve to say, "it is?"
    Ranma-chan just shrugged, "nope."
    This was enough to get him dagger looks from his companions, which
    in turn was enough to shut him up through the next two hotcakes.
    Ukyo just said, "so that's why he's eating even more than usual."
    Again, the shorthaired girl assented. "And he's still having
    lunch. Ranma," the last directed at the obvious, "you'd better leave
    some stomach for lunch, you know."
    "But it'll be afternoon when Kasumi comes back," he reasoned.
    "I'll be cooking lunch."
    Ranma-chan tried the path of least resistance. He failed. He
    gulped audibly.
    Ukyo had thought a bit, and started baking three okonomiyaki. She
    was glad no one had come in during the past few minutes, this being lunch
    hour. These okonomiyaki were definitely an emergency supply. Akane was
    busy staring at Ranma-chan, determined to see him through to her lunch.
    She smiled. This, she believed, was the overall reason as to why she'd
    end up with him: Akane couldn't cook to save her life. Tying up the
    fresh batch in a delivery box, she motioned slightly to Ranma-chan. She
    slipped him the parcel with a wink. He smiled broadly again, and
    whispered his thanks. Coming into a suspicious gaze of Akane, they went
    to the door.
    When they left, the self-styled ninja felt her shoulders sag under
    an empty weight. Together, they were. Don't they know how entirely
    destructive to a psyche that was. She shook her head and smirked. This
    was getting melodramatic. With what little patience she had left, she
    returned to open a crate of eggs.
    Nodoka was surprised that the doorbell rang.
    Opening the gate, she saw no one.
    "What a weird happening," was all she said, before she went back in
    for cooking.
    Kuno woke up with a start. He was holding the hand of a mustached
    old man. He let go of it immediately.
    "I'm glad you chose to rejoin the world," said the mustachioed man,
    returning to his newspaper. Kuno, with some confusion, got up and
    returned to his house for lunch.
    A lone figure leapt through the forest. The forest was the best
    route for any diminutive martial artist to take during the hot high noon.
    He had gotten the hang of lugging along the lanky device. But he was
    sure that it was going to be worth it. It was probably best if he was
    controlling the fight from the start. It wasn't fair, but who said life
    was?
    He'd never seen it before. Nabiki was brimming with unadulterated
    glee.
    Ryoga had barely caught up with Nabiki's bright steps. She wasn't
    showing any signs of emotion beyond the gait in her walk. And that gleam
    in her eyes. It was as though she could do one of the more perfect Tiger
    Fireballs that Ranma had belted before.
    They had passed by most of the shopping complex in the commercial
    district of Nerima. She started slowing down near the entrance. He
    wasn't surprised, as they had had the pace since they left the bank.
    Having been confused by the earlier events of the day (as he was
    wont to do), he promptly forgot most of the events leading to him
    escorting Nabiki. The only sure thing was that the sun started to beat
    upon them as though it was lunch somewhere on his more foreboding trips,
    not the friendly streets of the downtown.
    As luck would have it, the next turn led them face to face with the
    okonomiyaki shack. Nabiki entered without much delay, with the lost boy
    in tow.
    As the two entered, Ukyo glanced sharply upward, in a lightning
    reflex to what she thought was danger. Upon sighting Nabiki's face, she
    felt a chill when she stared into the shorthaired woman's eyes. In an
    instant, she knew (with that famed woman's instinct, for those redoubting
    males), what Nabiki was planning to do. Seized with indiscernible terror
    and panic, she stood paralyzed as Nabiki broke contact and hefted Ryoga
    into the darker corners of the shop.
    Ukyo was stunned. There was a slight wave of nausea that held her,
    but otherwise, the past moments held no clue. She wasn't exactly sure
    what had transpired, but it had something to do with the latest two
    patrons. Without realizing it, she brought two orders of lunch to the
    table huddled in the shadows (as shadows can huddle in the noontime, that
    is).
    Nabiki was sure of it, giddy as she was. This was all part of the
    grand scheme. It just wasn't very sporting of her to get the upper hand
    in the impromptu battle of wits, but she wasn't backing down. No, she
    wasn't giving him up without a fight. The young warrior seated in front
    of her was confused, but she planned to give him something to think
    about.
    This wasn't right, Ryoga thought. There was something about the
    presence of shadows in a room with windows open at half-past noon to keep
    a martial artist who's dealt with magic, ghosts, demons and perverts on
    his toes. And the tension in the air was palpable as the young
    entrepreneur went over.
    She let the plates in her hands lay themselves upon the table. Her
    eyes never left the back of the head of the brown-haired girl, before the
    latter slowly turned to view her hostess.
    "Well," she said evenly.
    "Well," responded the long-haired ninja, voice thick.
    It was a glad thing that the corner of the room was conceivably
    obstructed, as certain corners of diners were, to facilitate backroom
    dealings and underworld contracts. Nabiki knew all these at the back of
    her head, and had had a few choice encounters of her own.
    The presence of the okonomiyaki chef outside her customary grill
    was enough to get the attention of most of the regulars. Unfortunately
    for them, the corner was as tight as it could get.
    Ryoga was feeling pretty normal at this point.
    Nabiki held Ukyo in their second war of wills, with neither giving
    way. It was awkward to view such a tournament in the confines of the
    Ucchan's (if not the district), and so some of those watching started to
    fall back into the better lit areas of the restaurant. It fell on dead
    ears that, in the end, Nabiki actually won. It helped that she knew what
    this battle was about, and that her opponent did not.
    After a few minutes of the staring match, it surprised many when
    the middle Tendo sister gave the unsuspecting Hibiki a full kiss in the
    mouth. Before he could properly faint, Nabiki was gone.
    Standing in leftover okonomiyaki bits, and a sea of misplaced jaws,
    Ukyo waded through the small pool which separated her and Ryoga, who had
    his face in a plate.
    Tsubasa yawned.
    He had had enough trouble with the bamboo costume, he decided. He
    had been sidetracked, and bopped as well. On top of that, he was getting
    hungry. One always takes care of one's stomach in Nerima.
    Also, in Nerima, the best way to get a free meal was to follow
    one's nose. That exactly was what Tsubasa was doing when he smelled the
    smell of fine cuisine wafting in the late morning breeze. Trailing the
    silhouetted figure jumping through the rooftops, he went the shortest
    path to his stomach.
    


	5. Herbs and Spices: The Light on the Fourt...


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 04 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny thanks to whoever saw this.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Day 1
    The Light on the Fourth Floor
    Nodoka was baking a set of cookies for her neighbors to eat as a
    gift for seeing the house for the time she'll be at the Tendos'. While
    waiting for the oven to signal her, she was reading up on her
    international news. Her index and pinkie fingers were twirling
    themselves upon a strand of loose bangs, and she noted that they had been
    starting to straighten again. She sighed. She would have to have her
    coif set again. No matter. There'll be time for that.
    The oven pinged for her attention, and she hurriedly extracted the
    latest batch of goodies, which she then put into a small tray. Counting
    pieces, she realized that she had planned to make a last batch of sugar
    tidbits for the children of her neighbor, which they loved co much. She
    moved to the crate she had hoarded in order to claim the half-dozen eggs
    she needed when she suddenly realized a peculiar thing: some eggs were
    missing.
    She was sure they had been there earlier, and that she hadn't used
    any unaccounted for. Maybe she had misplaced them. She absently took
    note of it for later investigation.
    Out in the rain which had suddenly fallen in sunny summer Nerima,
    two females ran drenched into an overhang. They began to systematically
    dry their hair as they waited for the sunshower to pass. Akane was
    trying very much not to get annoyed.
    "I knew I should have brought an umbrella," she said.
    Her companion shrugged. "Good one."
    She gave the redhead a cleaving look which prompted momentary
    silence. It didn't help any at all, and none would be the better. They
    both knew that. A silent drizzle began to trail.
    She sighed to tilt her head skyward. It was a brilliant sunshower,
    where the sun's still out to catch each droplet in mid-air and give it a
    slightly crystalline look. She must have cocked her head to one side
    because Ranma-chan had sidled up ever so cautiously. She permitted
    herself a small smile before the sneeze caught her by surprise.
    A fit of déjà vu filled her when she felt the muscular arms of her
    fiancée embrace her form. A haze of red began to form, only to be
    stifled by the look on the smaller girl's face. She turned her gaze
    skyward once more to wonder when the rain will end, and as the arms
    cradled her waist to offer some of the warmth she needed, she hoped it
    wouldn't for some while, some while.
    
    Nabiki had gotten home just before the downpour, but she was still
    drenched. She caught Soun preparing bleary-eyed for a tragically delayed
    lunch. Leaving him almost in tears in the waiting room, she phoned for
    an order of six teriyakis on rice with the payment on delivery to the
    Tendo dojo. You know, the one near the high school, across the fenced
    walk near the river? Good.
    As soon as she had dropped the phone, Mr. Saotome entered rudely.
    He looked left and right and saw Soun near tears. Knowing all too
    well that his friend would be beyond words at this point, he aimed his
    sign at the female.
    Where is he? he said.
    "If it's that son of yours you're looking for, he should be coming
    home from Dr. Tofu's. What's got you so riled?" she said, catching her
    breath.
    Nodoka's coming.
    Oh, so that would be it. She wasn't very surprised.
    "Then I'll just make sure that he finds out before any incidents
    can occur," she concluded, grabbing an umbrella. "He's probably changed
    for the situation already," indicating the weather.
    Thank you said the panda, setting himself upon the task of
    drawing his friend back to the living, not exactly realizing that he was
    slated to pay for their lunch today, as Nabiki left for her best sources
    of income.
    Finally, as sudden as it had appeared, it had passed.
    Ukyo had briefly left the customers to take care of the fallen
    teen. She brought him up to her waiting room upstairs. After she had
    set him up with a towel on his forehead, she felt necessary to close shop
    early. The people were audibly disgruntled, but mostly did not argue the
    assessment of the management. After quickly tidying up the stalls and
    the grill, she closed the doors and the windows, and went up to check on
    her charge.
    The sunshower had barely shown itself than it passed, giving Ukyo
    the mild assumption that there was peace in the world. But, in her mind,
    there was only turbulence and questions.
    She pulled out an electric fan to cool the passed-out wanderer.
    Then she started to undo his footwear. This latter maneuver
    unfortunately required that she partly undo his pants, which she did with
    little delay. She just hoped that he wasn't going to wake up on him just
    yet, because after what he's gone through, his poor little brain couldn't
    handle the attention, not to mention his overworked ego.
    For the moment though, introspection was required. So, on the
    couch nearby, she promptly, but properly, fell asleep.
    Shampoo did not exactly believe her luck.
    For one, the first eggs she had chanced upon belonged to her
    mother-in-law. She didn't actually believe that this in itself was a
    good thing. She knew that her husband-to-be was not showing himself to
    her yet, and it wasn't easy for him to do so. Neither was it easy on his
    mother, but it was the way it was. It was the type of thing that only he
    and his father could resolve, and so some deception was in order to
    acquire the needed foodstuff. After all, what's six eggs when she's
    ready to provide their bloodline with good and strong children? Surely
    any woman can appreciate that.
    Secondly, she couldn't find him. She saw only the stupid stick-boy
    and the mustached father of Akane. She was a bit annoyed to think that
    they could be together as they sometimes were, but she had checked the
    clinic and there was only the doctor acting funny, and Akane's nice
    sister. They couldn't be at the school. So she just kept jumping up and
    down with the food in a steam container when the rain passed by. She
    cursed the goddess of the rain with her poor timing when the oven jumped
    her.
    Tsubasa didn't exactly believe his luck, either. Here was some
    free food, with just a cat beside it. He was wondering where the nicely
    curved female he was following went, as he sort of lost her because it
    was hard to jump while wearing an oven, but this will do. He opened the
    grill door to gather the dumplings, not noticing that the cat was heating
    a kettle of water.
    Shampoo was sure that she was going to kill this girl. She was
    eating the love dumplings she was going to give her future groom, which
    she had to borrow eggs for. The pangs of defeat began to twitch her
    changing muscles. Frustration was starting to bubble as she began to
    wear the skimpy oriental dress she had brought along with the kettle, and
    was slightly glad that summer rains in Nerima only lasted seconds counted
    on two hands.
    She slid gracefully to her opponent to establish the exchange of
    blows properly: with a kiss of death. Quickly was it done, so that
    bloodshed could occur, as this was mostly what was on her mind, beside
    the queerness of the opponent. So it totally took her off guard when her
    opponent stared at her with great big doe eyes.
    Tsubasa was stunned. There was this total knockout of a babe that
    was modeling some form of lingerie/swimsuit that was thinking of
    revealing enough of her to leave one in traction. And the first thing
    she did was kiss him! Not only was she a great body, but she had an eye
    and fashion sense to boot. He gratefully took her hand in his and asked
    politely, "what is your name?"
    The Amazon was wondering what had gone wrong. Her recipe was only
    supposed to make whoever ate the dumplings fall in love with the first
    member of the opposite sex he/she will encounter, no big deal. Kid's
    stuff, really. Something terrible had happened. "What you talking
    about?" She tried to move slightly out of range of the range.
    The girl just moved with her, never losing her grip on the warrior-
    maiden's hand. "But, my beauteous silk-skinned one..."
    This was something Shampoo had to refer to her great-grandmother.
    "So sorry, must be going," she muttered and flew into the air.
    Not to be outdone, Tsubasa followed once more.
    Nabiki had used the excuse to leave the house once more in order to
    set the matters of the rather extreme events of the morning into clearer
    focus. She passed by the park to check if her contact was there, and,
    sure enough, there he was.
    He was entirely nondescript. Nothing could be said about his
    features, save for the fact that there was nothing out of the ordinary.
    She stood near the bench he was sitting on and said, "it was there."
    He stood up. She had the most distinct feeling that the
    conversation, like all conversations they had, were completely under his
    control. "So it was." He looked her in the eye. "You did do as I
    asked, should the money be there."
    At that, she blushed ever so lightly. "Yes."
    He slightly sagged, as if the news served to depress him instead of
    elate him. "You'd like to know what you did that for."
    Again, she nodded.
    He sighed inwardly. "You've been doing some of the reverse
    engineering. You should be able to find out what would happen."
    Nabiki said, "I've gotten the two together."
    He nodded.
    Nabiki was about to ask, but his hand silenced her. "It is
    important that they get together now, instead of later."
    She could only ask, "But why do they need to get together now?"
    He only looked at her askingly, as if to pose the same question to
    her, leaving Nabiki to ponder the possibilities she could have not
    considered.
    The two left for their destination in silence. It was just a small
    game they had, to figure out who would break this fragile mood, and how
    long this comfortably warm non-verbal interaction would last. They
    actually made it to the road which leads straight to the dojo grounds
    before anyone dared to speak.
    "I'm hungry."
    Ranma-chan immediately considered the effects of having said I'm
    hungry at this point in time. He had quickly ditched the okonomiyaki
    through the ever efficient Saotome digestive system, and now he regretted
    it. But he had to hide it from Akane. It would have precluded their
    slightly weak moment earlier.
    But whenever Ranma would mention his need for sustenance, he felt
    he would immediately be assaulted by the fawnings of one or (usually)
    more of his fiancées would jump at the chance to outdo all the others,
    claiming that this would be the ultimate proof that she was the one for
    him.
    It was usually either martial arts or cooking in which the four
    would fight over him for. He was having slight problems accepting that,
    even though she was greatly lost in either compared to the others, he
    still chose Akane. It wasn't the practical choice, nor was it actually
    the wise choice. He just knew somewhere deep down that it was the right
    choice.
    Now how was that for sappy? He stared at the one he cared for.
    What would happen if he had lost her? He wouldn't know. He tried
    not to think about it, as often as it almost happens. He admitted to
    himself that he didn't want to know.
    He felt a kinship to her. She was his, and he hers, and there was
    nothing that could shake him from that. Not Mikado. Not Ryoga. Not
    Shinnosuke. Not even Kuno. Not his other fiancées. And definitely not
    Kodachi.
    He honestly did not know what to do without her by his side.
    If only they could see that together.
    He just waited for the reaction his statement evinced.
    
    Akane pursed her lips as they walked the damp road. She dared not
    to speak, for fear of words which could bind them, words which could tear
    them at each other. It always came to these, words. Little nothings in
    all senses of the word. What would happen to words if you hear them
    backwards? They lose meaning. How can we go on like this? She stole a
    glance at the pretty face which held her at a loss at times.
    What kind of poetry could the old masters write which could involve
    us without gender? The tomboy and the half-boy/half-girl. Not a he nor
    a she, but a you and an I. We were meant to come together now, here.
    The real and the mystic. Like some uncommon sort of soulmate, the
    complement of the other, yet reflecting one another.
    She wondered slightly. She was romantically thinking about him.
    It was delicious irony, but it was too dear to her for her to dismiss.
    He was always there for her, even though she felt... undeserving. He
    would never leave her.
    But, how would life be if he was here with her, forever? After all
    those times when trouble would lead to him. Could they be able to stick
    it through? With all these people keeping them apart, and pushing them
    together. They were just fighting all external forces. How did he
    really feel? How did she really feel?
    Would it be the right thing to happen?
    Would there be the right words to say?
    She closed her eyes to hear his voice.
    "I'm hungry."
    The man woke up again, with his head ringing. The way the light
    crept into the room told him that it was very close to lunchtime, and
    that it will rain very recently. He blinked a bit, then breathed in
    deeply.
    He stood up to the window, then closed the blinds. He then went to
    the light switch, to get a handhold on the amount of light at least.
    Nothing.
    He groaned. The switch was busted, he forgot. Stupid, stupid.
    Wheedling to the window, he slid the venetians slightly, so as to
    provide just the amount of light needed. He remembered to keep tabs on
    the date, and today was the day he was supposed to meet with Nabiki.
    Another groan. He won't make it if he didn't hurry up.
    He's just glad he won't get caught in the rain. Nerima always had
    rain.
    Shampoo didn't exactly know where to run. This girl was more
    trouble than she was worth. Whenever she would try to turn around to
    assail the overeager poseur, she'd have gone into a different guise.
    Then, when she thought she was safe, the girl would jump out of a nearby
    tree or garbage can. This was starting to stink, too.
    Down the road she barreled at cheetah speed. Luckily no one was
    near enough to be barreled down, or else they'd grab a hefty helping of
    Chinese. She thought of going down the road, when she realized that this
    was where the Tendo dojo was. She almost was able to pass by the fence
    when a fire hydrant slammed into her. They fell into the river.
    How predictable, they thought, oblivious to the commotion for the
    moment. Akane and Ranma-chan heard and saw the splash of water, as they
    had been on the self-same road. They quickly ran to the action, which
    had started building a chokepoint on the path.
    At the scene, they saw Tsubasa (in a ruined fire hydrant costume)
    holding an oriental dress of sorts. He was crying, "she's naked! I must
    clothe her before anyone can defile her body with lascivious glances,"
    and ran through the other side of the road.
    This scene flew through Ranma's brain (with only the mild essence
    of: Tsubasa seems to talk like Kuno now, is he dressing up Chinese,
    too?), as Akane quickly summed up the logical course of action: "Let's
    go, Ranma."
    This, of course, was due to the pinkish cat she held in her arms,
    screeching and scratching. She, of course, kept this from her
    houseguest's (or is it, housepest?) eyes and ears.
    Not too successfully, though. "What was that?"
    Akane feigned ignorance. "What was what?"
    Ranma-chan cocked her head. "Nothing. I just thought it was..."
    Akane took the phrase. "Nothing."
    Ranma-chan glanced at her. It could have gone well, too.
    They just went ahead, the girl in red on the fence, and the girl
    with the cat slightly behind. She whispered, "we'll talk about this
    later, Shampoo." The pink cat just made a tiny screech, and continued to
    protest.
     Mousse woke up. He opened his eyes. Nothing. A muttered curse
    that ended up as a sound like that of a crumpled clarinet confirmed the
    worst: he was, in fact, a duck. He sometimes wished that he had some
    sort of fastening for his glasses like that of Mr. Saotome, so that they
    wouldn't sneak up and away from him.
    He tried standing, but his wings were kept where they were by some
    unseen force. He felt sure of only a few things: someone was planning
    to cook him, and it wasn't either Shampoo or Cologne.
    The latter meant mainly that this was no dream. He was sure of it
    because he could hear the slashing motions made by the butcher's knife
    being tested for sharpness. Most Chinese recipes he knew the Amazons
    used involved using unprepared meat and fowl. No, this chef was planning
    to chop his head off before dressing him.
    No, this was not the way a good day would be going.
    "What did you say, Saotome?" Soun bellowed to the panda practicing
    looking innocent while playing with a beach ball.
    The panda fished around for something. He withdrew the sign which
    said "Nodoka's coming", and flashed it at his host.
    In turn, Tendo bugged his eyes out. Much as Nodoka was a welcome
    guest, lately, it never brought any good out of the house. Or in it, for
    any matter. "When?"
    Don'know was the reply.
    Soun started to show large veins on his forehead while speaking.
    "So you're planning to take your son with you on a training trip, just to
    avoid the heat, knowing very well that the Master could strike at any
    point?"
    At that, the panda quickly hid the backpack he had recovered for
    his cursed family members. Now, that you think about it...
    Tendo sat cross-legged looking at the panda. "And until then,
    you'll just be doing that, eh?"
    The panda nodded, returning to rocking a tire.
    He also nearly avoided a few neatly thrown tables.
    When the delivery man arrived, Soun left the unconscious "bear"
    floating face-down in the pond, betwixt strewn table entrails.
    Sasuke was really glad that he had snooped on the Amazons earlier.
    It's been a while since he's cooked Peking duck, that he really
    wasn't sure that he was going to do it right. But, oh joy of joys! Here
    he was with a duck he just picked up on the street in the marketplace on
    the way back. The duck was high-quality meat, with good stuffing. It
    was kind of heavy as well, too heavy for a mere duck, which made him kind
    of wonder. What was kind of weird, though, was when he picked the
    waterfowl up, it was wearing a set of glasses. At least, that was what
    it looked like. He kept the latter for later inspection. (a ninja
    doesn't just return objects picked up, they have to check it, you know?)
    He was playing with a butcher's knife. He could remember someone
    warning him not to play with sharp objects, but being in the servitude of
    the Kunos, it was unavoidable. There would be times when he would have
    to clean a set of hoops which had dulled due to hitting posts in
    gymnastic rings, or sets of grass-cutters (with black-tinted clippings)
    or razors. A butcher's knife was one of the more safe things he's
    handled recently.
    He was also swinging it in mid-air, making slicing motions. That
    was the traditionally martial-arts way of testing snappiness and
    sharpness, if there was a whoosh of air filling in a vacuum, or a sharp
    hiss. Why, in China, they'd test the sharpness of their weapons by
    simply slicing through the air, as the air over there was hard enough to
    sink your teeth into.
    Smirking, he chopped at the head of the duck.
    The man woke up. He tried to flick on the light, as the blinds
    were drawn. He flipped it on.
    Nothing.
    Oh well, that would explain the new bulb yesterday.
    He drew the blinds open. The streets were only slightly damp.
    He yawned.
    He rolled up into bed.
    


	6. Herbs and Spices: Five to Nine


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 05 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny thanks to whoever saw this.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Day 1
    Five to Nine
    Kasumi folded and put down the apron she had borrowed for the
    doctor and sat on one of the beds. That doctor! She chuckled to
    herself. Although he had put on this horrendously funny act, he had left
    rather hastily with his skeleton Betty. It was rather nice of him to
    entertain her, when she was only here to return a book. (but wasn't this
    what happened every time?) She had already picked out the book she
    wanted to borrow (an old tome on the virtues of herbs as practical gift
    items), but still, Dr. Tofu hadn't come back. She was worried that he
    would be gone for quite a while, and she had to cook lunch. Poor father.
    He'd be worried sick. Maybe I should call home? Yes, that would be the
    proper thing to do.
    Kasumi tried to call home, but the phone was uncharacteristically
    busy. After three tries, she hung up. Maybe I'll call a bit later.
    The motherly Tendo went back into the reception room of the clinic
    to read the book she had borrowed. I'll just wait for the good doctor.
    It was there that she saw the letters scattered on the table. "What's
    this?" she asked openly. Since she had cleaned the clinic, she would
    fix this up a bit, too. She almost whistled a happy tune, while absently
    filing away the unopened letters and subscription forms. She glanced at
    a few of them, and was almost done when a sheet of folded paper fell.
    She had settled the rest on a cabinet in the inner room when she picked
    it up. Not meaning to pry, she noted that the letter was for his mother.
    She smiled slightly at that. Such a lively woman she was. It shows of
    good health and vitality.
    She put that atop of the rest, and returned to her book.
    Cologne was busy filling in orders at the Cat Cafe when some sort
    of ruckus could be heard above the din. As it came from the outside,
    several of the diners were peering through the windows. But almost
    immediately, they returned to their seats, and returned to their usual
    state of chaos.
    She grunted. So, Kasumi Tendo was cleaning up at the young
    acupuncturist's clinic again, eh? Shampoo must already be on the way to
    the groom's lunch table. Things are definitely looking up. Too bad that
    Mousse seems to have gallivanted looking for the girl. If it wasn't
    lunch time, I'd have knocked him silly. As it is, though, I'm sure that
    the two won't have too much trouble.
    
    There.
    Mousse thrust the left wing at the butcher's knife, confident that
    his aim would be dead-on.
    Sasuke opened his eyes. Instead of finding a headless duck, he
    just saw that his hands were no longer on the knife. After a moment's
    searching determined that it had in fact imbedded itself onto the ceiling
    of the kitchen, he began to wonder. He must be using too much force, and
    had let go of the knife before impact. If he could just stop from
    blinking whenever he swings the stupid thing...
    Mousse started to fuss in his awkward position, looking for a
    suitable tool to use in this predicament. He had to keep calm in order
    to use his other senses, and being hounded with a butcher's knife while
    tied up was not the most calming of situations. He had almost gotten his
    left wing out when the ninja had returned from the roof.
    Most interesting, Sasuke said to himself. The menu was giving a
    chase. So be it! he thought, as he was used to fighting in the most
    unusual of venues against the most ridiculous of opponents. This would
    most certainly qualify.
    He had leapt into the air and was heaving the blade mercilessly
    toward the fowl, shouting a battle cry (which, as could be added, is not
    what your everyday ninja would do), and, as a result, got him a mouthful
    of explosive eggs. He fell down as MuMu-chan righted himself, shaking
    off flecks of wood and eggshells.
    Kuno stood at the dining table in the estate. He waited as
    patiently as he could. But he could not take any more of this insolence.
    "Sasuke!" he bellowed, temerity brimming. He was kind of hungry, and a
    true warrior does not keep himself hungry. If only such fools around him
    would realize and submit willingly.
    Ranma-chan and Akane were about to go in when Nabiki met them.
    They entered the gate when the phone rang. Inside, they could here the
    baritone of Soun Tendo responding to an unknown dialogue.
    The redhead was greeted by a bellowed, "so, how did it go with the
    doctor?" The raven-haired one answered, "he was able to stop the hair
    growth." Soun was just nodding.
    He said, "that was Kasumi. She said she'd be waiting for Dr. Tofu
    in the clinic. Have any of you seen him?"
    Ranma-chan and Akane stared at each other. The some-time pig-
    tailed goddess said, "try the park," and went into the dining room.
    It had caught the young martial artists' noses that there was
    already hot food on the table. Since their young cook was not around, it
    was decided that someone had ordered for delivery and that it had been
    reheated. To whoever that was, Ranma could not give enough thanks. He
    could only avoid grinning because his nominal fiancée was at his side.
    At once, the two who came from the clinic ate. They were joined
    soon after by the middle Tendo sister sans umbrella. They ate in
    somewhat silence, which Ranma soon broke by announcing that he was to
    take a bath again (making it his fourth). The siblings merely took the
    utensils and bowls to clean.
    For a while, only the grunting sounds of a panda at play were
    heard.
    Shampoo didn't exactly wait where she was. Having to stay here
    while her husband was taking a bath was no fun, but, admittedly, having
    him pass out in hideous fear was another. It, well, just didn't suit
    him.
    She waited where she was when Akane arrived with a kettle of hot
    water, a towel and a dress of sorts. She was going to be civil as long
    as it was getting her something, and for now, it's simply shelter.
    Akane started, "what were you doing with Tsubasa?"
    Shampoo stared at her, wondering if this was the first time that
    only they were together, and not at each other's throats. And, if it
    was, why. "You know crazy girl, Akane?"
    They didn't meet before, of course. "Tsubasa is a guy. But I
    thought he was after Ukyo."
    "This Tsubasa is guy? Oh." She hit a hand with the other. So it
    wasn't wrong after all.
    At this point, Akane was openly wondering why that dress didn't
    look quite comfortable with Shampoo in it. She realized that it was
    because it was just a bit too tight around some areas. She slightly
    flinched at the thought. "What? Why is he after you, Shampoo?"
    "Maybe Shampoo have something Ukyo don't," she cryptically said.
    Cryptic doesn't do Shampoo well. Akane was close to asking again
    when Shampoo stood up. "I go now." And with that she left for the roof.
    As Akane, too, stood, Shampoo peered from above. "I return dress
    later." Then she fled.
    Dr. Tofu was busy retracing his steps. Having gotten to the other
    end of the district on foot was no easy task, and something he had to
    redo soon. He was still grinning ear to ear, though.
    Not wanting to remove Betty from her piggyback position, he trudged
    quickly down the path to the clinic.
    Kuno had had his lunch, but had to get it from Sasuke after he had
    been revived. Evidently, he had been trying something with eggs that did
    not do well.
    He was on his way to the open court in order to practice some katas
    and hone his eloquence when he had chanced upon a duck. The duck acted
    like it was a bit drunk, swaying about and bumping into posts and such.
    He picked up the fowl and placed it into Mr. Turtle's pond. It was
    probably past his lunchtime.
    Kuno left the pond amidst the sounds of the second battle there in
    hours for his afternoon fancy.
    A cherry blossom festival was being held in Tokyo. Among the pink
    and brown background, one could not notice a diminutive, venerably aged
    man carrying an ice box. He trudged along unnoticed, sadly noting the
    presence of kimonos and fineries which hid the true wonders of the human
    body. Had to wait until the summer. He came and left.
    Cologne was not surprised to see Shampoo in a school uniform. The
    traditional white and green-blue ensemble was a regular enough sight at
    the diner. She quickly discarded this in search for some flimsier
    clothing.
    "Granddaughter, where have you been?"
    Fitting herself into a short-sleeved affair she said, "at Ranma's."
    Cologne knew that that answer didn't add any to her confidence in
    her descendant's abilities in the marital arts. "Where is that bird-
    brain Mousse?"
    The younger Amazon replied, "don't know, great-grandmother."
    She hopped on her staff a bit, leaving the ramen in the wok. "The
    numskull was just supposed to buy me some pork and potatoes. Where could
    he have gotten off to?"
    Shampoo was only minutely vexed by the concern the elder had. "Why
    great-grandmother worry about Mousse?"
    "I just don't want to be left out on the information, child. He
    could be plotting something right this minute."
    Shampoo only smirked. "I no worry. Ranma ready for anything."
    "Oh, I'm sure son-in-law would, child," she said as she went back
    to her cooking.
    Kodachi woke up on the floor of her lab. Strewn about the doors,
    several househands were lying unconscious. She stood up and dusted
    herself with her gloves. She then went to the sink and washed off the
    grime from her face. That was one formula she'd have to test again. Who
    would imagine that a love potion would have paralytic properties? It was
    probably used to succumb the target for more amorous purposes, not
    necessarily of the target's liking. It could prove useful.
    It was, in fact, when she was planning to cook up a larger batch of
    this particular recipe when she heard the fight.
    Nodoka was about cleaning the yard of the house when she had seen
    the unusual sight of a young man with a skeleton on his back. He was
    definitely a martial artist of skill: not only was he moving at an
    exhilarating pace, he was doing this without upsetting the dust that she
    was gathering into a pile, nor with a sound. Not recognizing the style
    of martial arts which practices that particular style, she went back to
    her sweeping.
    The man shifted unnaturally in his sleep.
    It was when Ranma was taking his fourth bath when he started to
    relax, again in tune with his own body. He hated not having complete
    control over his body; a martial artist keeps it upon himself to
    harmonize body and mind, in order to perfectly coordinate and adapt. It
    couldn't do good just to know how to use an attack or a defense, but
    when.
    As he sank in the pool, he would remember to keep these hot baths
    to a minimum, as there was only so much that their overworked heater
    could stand. He would probably have to take more cold baths, as his
    mother was expected to return. He had gathered as much without being
    told by Nabiki: his father was so transparent you could see him inside
    that panda suit.
    He tensed slightly at the twists fate had thrown him in. Having
    girls chase him wasn't exactly new, as he wasn't exactly unpopular in his
    youth. It's just that he never saw females as anything more than just
    different people, with all the same problems that come with being human.
    He slightly blanched at the fact that having not exactly the same body
    parts caused their own problems. That's probably why he and Ukyo were
    having problems now: He still saw her as the friend he left and met
    again, because that's who she was. He... couldn't respond. He wasn't on
    the same wavelength.
    But being a girl was another matter. He had to keep himself from
    revealing their curse to his mother, the one woman who had meant to him
    all that time they were on the road. And the cat-fist technique, which
    gained full control of his sensibilities. He somehow lost more of his
    life to fate.
    He scrubbed down to dress up to continue their shared vigil.
    Mousse felt that he had to get away. Just because.
    He was kind of sure that he didn't want to go into the maw-like
    thing with rather sharp teeth attached to it that seemed to bear itself
    upon him.
    Also, he could hear and feel a certain amount of jostling,
    amounting to the cavalry. Not very good odds, but he's been in worse.
    First, the Abyss. A few well-placed eggs would do fine, but the
    finesse would be lost. Replace with a well-placed bo, and we're in
    business.
    What would do fine would be to get the hell out of here. Simply
    flight with duck wings wasn't going to get him through much, as he
    couldn't exactly see where he was going. He kept his spare sets of
    spectacles out of his cache of weaponry, as glass tends to break within
    the confines of sharp and deadly instruments. No, guided telemetry was
    needed.
    Upward, he threw a grappling hook attached to strong wire. Feeling
    for the bob, he held on to the largish metal ball attached to the end of
    the wire. Knowing full well that the physics of it would hold, he
    followed the path of the grappling hook as followed by the bob.
    Incidentally, the grappling hook went over a wall, and thus the Kuno
    servants watched the duck (that stuck a wooden staff across the
    mistress's pet alligator's mouth rather well) hang on to the ball of
    metal into the springs of the Kuno mansion. They knew better than to
    touch the reptile, they filed instead into the other end of the mansion,
    as this was the only path into the Jacuzzi of the manor. As they did
    this, they passed by the greenhouse, which had been cleared of the
    dreadful stuff the mistress had been brewing.
    Ryoga noticed the afternoon sun peeking through the window, as it
    directly flashed into his face, waking him. He had a damp (and cold)
    cloth on his forehead, which wasn't quite enough to turn him into a pig.
    He discarded this, and tried to assess his current situation.
    He was in someone's bedroom. He hoped it wasn't Akane's. It
    wouldn't exactly be good to have her come in on him in his current state
    of (somewhat) undress. He slipped on his sandals and fastened his pants,
    as he was getting the heck out of wherever he was. He reckoned he was
    where he was earlier this day, when he thought that he was at the
    Tendos'. But how or why he ended up here was a mystery. Nothing that
    should actually bother him, though.
    He noticed an assortment of pictures of a family set on a side
    cabinet. He couldn't identify much in the faded photos except for a
    vehicle of sorts which was always there with the family. He went past
    this unto the window pane, to open it further.
    It wasn't as though he could recognize where he was through
    landmarks. His last count ended him somewhere in the sixth floor of the
    Diet building, so that was of no help.
    His ever-reliable reflexes alerted him to some movement. He
    quickly turned towards the source: a couch near the mat he was lying on.
    As slowly as he could, he inched closer and closer to the furniture.
    As he peeked over the top, he had the unfortunate experience of
    losing blood for the third time in the day, unconsciousness mercifully
    claiming him.
    Kodachi was quick to note that the duck had its trajectory vectored
    to the hot springs. It was lucky to note that no one was using them at
    the time. Not that she'd care. If that duck had only thrown it
    arbitrarily in the exact opposite direction that it did, it would have
    left the premises. The unforgivable creature had harmed her pet, and she
    would make sure to give it the full treatment. There was something
    itching in the middle of her head (which would make it the back of her
    brain) about the waterfowl, but it was naught of any consequence.
    She leapt unto the wall that separated the baths from the forest in
    time to see the bird rush headlong into the nearest pool. She allowed
    herself a slight smirk in appraising the advantage in her position.
    No mere bird will make a mockery of Kodachi Kuno, or her pet.
    No mere bird will survive. Even if it is just a bird.
    She jumped down, almost exactly into the arms of a young man she
    hadn't seen there.
    Mousse was now human, he could tell: the water was warm enough for
    bathhouses. He rose in the robes he had brought with him for such
    occasions, and ascended, reclaiming the hook-and-ball. If anybody had
    been noticing, his figure silhouetted against the steam, encloaked as he
    was, seemed like the ascension of an angel of mercy.
    Which was what Kodachi was thinking.
    She fell on the tips of her feet, as any gymnast would be able to
    do with minimal discomfort. Bringing her hands to her face, she tried to
    discern the features of the man she fell in love with immediately.
    Through long tresses of hair, his blue eyes fell upon her vulnerable and
    frail frame, as though to caress it. Truth to tell, Mousse couldn't tell
    a telephone pole from his darling Shampoo from two paces away normally,
    so Kodachi being just beyond two meters in the foggy environment could
    not exactly have been caressed by sight. It also didn't matter.
    She took no time at all to glomp onto the stranger.
    Nerima sighed.
    The sun was beginning to leave its lazy arc, into the quicker yet
    equally lethargic drop into the horizon. Things become such during the
    summer days here. Another uneventful day was wrapping itself up,
    preparing to throw itself into the ditch history prepared entirely for
    days like these.
    And night was to surround, bringing the peace that the dark takes
    away to far regions of the world.
    


	7. Herbs and Spices: Sixth Sense and Sensib...


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 06 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny thanks to whoever saw this.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Day 1
    Sixth Sense and Sensibilities
    As one reaches the evening in beautiful and balmy Nerima, one
    begins to feel a tension in the air. Some static electricity of unknown
    wavelength to travel down the fragrant air. This is mildly known as
    perversion.
    As the sun sets, so set in the deeper darker evils unknown to such
    kinder souls in the midmorning, or even the afternoon. But, as sure as
    the dark closes upon the district, there will be no rest for all.
    Kasumi was on her way home, with a basket half-filled with
    groceries. In her left hand, she had Dr. Tofu's book, which held the
    page she was on with a bookmark of sorts. Probably a piece of paper she
    had picked up somewhere. The doctor had been so distracting.
    But it was getting late. She had to admit that she rarely let
    herself leave the house, as it was always in some state of disrepair and
    disarray these days, and her visits to the clinic were a frequent and
    reliable breath of fresh air. As she nodded barely to the west and the
    sun winked sadly at her, she realized that she was also rarely out this
    late in the day. She had already missed lunch, but she felt justified.
    Her free left hand lazily traced the fence mesh while she sauntered
    slowly to the household, her omnipresent smile just slightly more deep
    and felt.
    After logging in some time waiting tables, Shampoo hit upon an
    idea. She supposed that she had thought of this some time before, for
    entirely different reasons. As she donned an apron of pink frills and
    thin wool, she knew exactly why she hadn't done it before: Amazon law
    was true and fair, as all Amazons should strive to be. She had had her
    shortcomings, but she had always believed that a man should give himself
    to a woman because he believes that she is the one he wants. (a matter
    of grave meditation would follow if she had to wonder why Ranma was so
    adamant about choosing Akane: she must have some cunning spell upon him,
    which she would break. or else some deeper truth...)
    Nonetheless, she knew well how to concoct such alchemy as
    necessary, and in the case of the pervert called Tsubasa, she was willing
    to pull all stops, else (gasp) be prepared to wed him, in the unlikely
    chance that he beat her groom. Of course, she could just have her
    husband beat him, but it was always said that an Amazon can hold her own.
    Akane was starting to heat up again.
    "What do you think you're doing?" she told an (evidently)
    inattentive Ranma, who stood on his hands, facing away from her.
    "Wha--?" was the infuriating response.
    It must be noted, of course, that Akane was not to hit him because,
    as Ranma had to learn (the hard way), she was not in the right frame of
    mind. Soun had noticed this while maintaining an unassuming position
    near the door of the dojo. She was giving in too much to the anger, and
    this anger could be used to your disadvantage.
    Soun watched the two lovers spar in the tradition of the anything-
    goes school: any-which-way. Ranma leapt upward as Akane started with a
    sweeping kick to the arms and head, before twirling in mid-air to lithely
    land behind her. She knew that this was going to happen, and was
    prepared to throw a set of barbells at him. He, on the other hand, was
    likewise prepared. She faked a throw with her right, which wasn't her
    preferred side anyhow, and the arc of the metal whizzed past harmlessly
    to his blindside. The ten-kilo weight thudded dully behind him.
    As Akane assumed a sumo stance facing him (which, can be noted, is
    similar to the horse riding stance of several arts, with the distinction
    of having a lower center of gravity, as sumo wrestlers rarely use horses,
    for obvious reasons), with a grimace of promised pain, Ranma decided on a
    change of pace. Grabbing onto her blue belt, he slid his legs underneath
    the wide space presenting itself under his partner. At the same time,
    using that same joint as the fulcrum, he pulled her weight toward the
    ground.
    Ranma was sure he'd seen this maneuver once too often (one of which
    could be dancing lessons), excluding the barbells. The last would not
    have mattered much except for the fact that one of these was on the
    floor, and that Akane's foot had caught itself in it. And so she was
    halfway to the floor, Ranma could not find an alternative to her hitting
    it.
    Using a property of the Saotome school's techniques for mid-air
    grappling, he again held on to the fastening of her upper gi (otherwise
    known as the belt-ranks) and, without shoving the unanchored female,
    pulled himself upward along her body, extending an arm in order to claim
    her shoulders, hoping to cushion the latter with his body.
    (It must be noted here that most of the arguments and embarrassing
    moments which could have lead to rather prickly positions, among others,
    could begin here. The fact that Soun was watching all this, he decided
    to take some really quick action-telephotography lessons, as well as call
    the other members of the house. This might, some would say,
    ineffectively explain why no romance could safely be held at the training
    facilities, thus a reason for marital festivities to be held at bay.)
    Akane, at the point of falling, felt the need to hold on to the
    barbells. She knew she could execute a proper roll, but Ranma was
    hanging on to her waist and bringing her down. This easily could have
    been avoided if she was focused on the match, instead of aspects of it.
    She closed her eyes, hoping to avoid pain and/or shock by not being able
    to see.
    Sweat rolled.
    Ukyo woke startled. In a flash, it was evening. Her stomach was
    growling, as she had forgotten to have her lunch. She realized that
    Ryoga must also be quite famished, unless he liked inhaling his
    okonomiyaki. Fastening her wrap-around, she mildly reminded herself to
    start wearing brassieres, as she didn't wear her bandages to stifle her
    chest growth anymore. Also, the number of perverts in Nerima was
    astonishingly huge, and she didn't want to get peeped on in case she fell
    asleep like that.
    She numbly registered the fact that Ryoga was not on the mat she
    had lain for him earlier. This was bad, but there wasn't any sign as to
    where he could have gone, nor of his actual passing. Her sleep-fogged
    brain took no time in locating him without informing other parts of her,
    thus she had tripped on him, almost falling. Having righted herself, she
    noticed the profuse blood which avoided clinging onto his clothes. Must
    have been some stain-off of sorts. Anyway, waking him wouldn't exactly
    be the best course of action.
    Hefting him along his stomach, Ukyo considered where she was to
    drop him. She nixed the mat, as he might find a way to vanish after
    waking. On second thought, he could do that anywhere. With an
    indeterminate amount of disgust, Ryoga was deposited on her bed, in order
    to induce the most comfort and the most slumber.
    Leaving him snoring, Ukyo began to prepare dinner.
    Night began, and near Mt. Fuji, a similar fount of action was
    awaiting to uncoil, feeding upon the stillness of the dark. It moved,
    and assimilated, gathering information necessary for modular activity.
    Soon, it will attack.
    Mousse blinked.
    He hadn't been glomped before, thus had not been able to identify
    the particular sound a glomp makes with the particular warmth a female
    body covered only by a leotard exudes while executing such a move. He
    blink-blinked once, then cursed the Will That Be for depriving him of
    sight at such an inopportune occasion.
    Not knowing quite what to do, he couldn't just let his hands do the
    figuring out. He couldn't do that exactly. He could just have been
    coated with tar or some other warm and unlikely substance. He could have
    been stuck in a comforter or something. He could just hear his own self-
    made explanations fly away as Kodachi started to attack his ears with
    some seductive nibbling.
    Kodachi was not going to let this one get away, oh no. Here he was
    not even stuttering or flinching. A man who was willing to take all she
    was going to give, and more. She ran circles on his pecs. Oh, she knew
    what to do with this darling, little boy.
    Her fantasizing (coupled with decided teasing and biting) was very
    sorely interrupted by the sounds of the servants checking out the
    miscreant duck. She had forgotten about it, but she believed she was
    justified. She wasn't going to reveal the presence of the man of her
    dreams to the rest of the world quite yet, not until she has made him
    hers and hers alone. She tilted slightly backwards, just to check if
    Mousse was to give resistance at the last possible moment, then streaked
    through the early evening sky, not even leaving a parting laugh.
    Tsubasa was halfway to tears. He had scoured the district in
    search for the one he loved when he bounded past a window. Not knowing
    better not to peek (as all households in Nerima are guarded with all
    sorts of easy-access weaponry, one could never be sure who's out there),
    he saw a familiar-looking ninja, hefting an unconscious young man to her
    bed. The scene flew by him, without much registering beyond the obvious.
    Without really knowing why, he had whole tears forming when he
    resumed his more frantic search.
    Nodoka yawned. She was quite ready to turn in, but she checked her
    list again. She'd have to get all of that finished tomorrow morning, so
    that she could leave for the umpteenth time to reclaim her family. Her
    hopes were starting to dim, as there was probably something bad that
    could happen, or could have happened, and her family could be shattered
    before they could be finally reunited. But she held firm. Those were
    just silly, trivial worries. She could trust the Tendos, they were just
    the oldest friends.
    Nabiki was in the dojo, with Ranma. This type of thing wasn't
    exactly procedure in the household, but since Kasumi had just come back
    and was preparing dinner, and Akane wasn't planning to talk to him
    anytime before the next century (as per usual), she was apparently voted
    unanimously by the fathers. He was sitting Indian with his hand on his
    unbandaged cheek, all the while his pigtail twirling in mid-air. She
    thought that it was kind of weird that so much hair was tied there that,
    if Ranma wanted to, he could make it do all sorts of gestures. It was as
    much a giveaway as the teenager's face, for all that it was worth. She
    was waiting for the tirade that was dancing in his mind, quite visible
    through his blue eyes.
    For his part, he actually seemed to consider his next words. That
    she owed to her reputation, personality, and ability to make a buck. If
    it was free, she turn it into yen. She absently licked her lips,
    thinking that she could turn it into even more, if needed.
    He could have started out with the mildly innocuous topic of the
    save with the face hair. He hadn't event thought of consulting the
    medicine man, and he was inclined to string the old ghoul for information
    (which pays heavier than even the middle Tendo sister's rates), until he
    focused slightly on the legs of the self-made woman. Not that it would
    matter to him, (and since it wasn't really any of his business) he
    noticed that none of the sisters were of the habit of shaving their legs.
    He himself was glad that he apparently did not inherit his father's
    hairiness, and so was spared of the need, as his alterego would need. In
    fact, he was lucky to have gotten rid of the mustache early on, else he
    grow one even in his female guise.
    It didn't even matter that he didn't start the conversation. She
    could pick it up even if she opened. Ranma crossly waited for speech to
    commence.
    Nabiki took a hard look at his (now) rugged face, and into his
    eyes. No one seemed to notice that he dimpled whenever he laughed, just
    below them. It made for a glittering look, she had seen him used only on
    certain occasions, all at her sister. These two were so transparent.
    Just like earlier.
    Much to the beleaguered heir's disadvantage, his companion didn't
    even ask about it. She knew enough, had seen enough, and had enough
    shots, to make her quota. She had more pressing matters to take care of.
    "Tell me about Ryoga."
    It took him off guard immediately. She made a faraway look that
    implied she wasn't paying attention to him at all. He made stares. He
    even figured to wave his hand in front of her. To disconcert him
    further, she just as quickly retained a poker face.
    He studied her intently. Ryoga could just be someone who wanted to
    kill him for some reason or another (spearheaded by the claim that he had
    caused the persistent jerk to be cursed at Jusenkyo's sorrowful pool of
    drowned li'l black piglet), but he could trust the guy to do the right
    thing at the right time. (Some dark corner of his mind supplied the idea
    that he might think that the idiot could do the right thing for that
    sexless macho chick he was forcibly engaged to, but the more sturdy
    neurons talking to his vocal mechanisms kept shut.) What he couldn't
    exactly get his finger on was the angle Nabiki was using on anything he
    could say about him. The fool was after him anyway, on a regular enough
    basis, without any prevarication.
    And the two were on well-enough terms to actually tolerate each
    other most of the time. He was probably as close to a friend as he could
    get, considering his propensity to trip up anybody within his immediate
    concern.
    Finally, the thought that there was something not quite within his
    grasp about the nature of the conversation to occur, which caused him to
    be more cautious than he already was.
    "What would you want to know?"
    Ukyo ate by candlelight, as she was wont to. Her dinner was
    solemn, and benignly undisturbed. Her music was the light snoring her
    dozing and invisible roommate made, telling her that he was indeed
    nearby. She had thought to wake him up, but the fact the she was going
    to end up in her bed, with him, sent waves of unrepressed anxiety and
    embarrassment. She could not, would not, tell him of the discoveries she
    had made for them tonight. Not while he was seized by the fancy of
    Nabiki, as he no doubt was. A male ego was a fragile thing, but Ryoga's
    was worse. She'd seen him carry on when he was bent out of shape by
    either Ranma or Akane (involuntarily), and he would somehow be passing
    nearby. A kind word or two, some warm food, and he would be good as new,
    but she saw a kindred type of searching in his eyes. The sadness
    belonging to some soul jilted by one for another, of unforgiving and
    unmerciful fate, and of being alone. Alone, was how they were.
    She pushed the plates, too tired to clean them. Tomorrow morning,
    they would see suds, but tonight: rest.
    Dinner was well underway at the Tendo dojo, and the mood was tense.
    Kasumi was cheerful but contained, and Nabiki was calculatedly distant.
    The four martial-artists-at-large were unspeaking, concentrated upon the
    food served, disinclined to start conversation lest Fate be tempted to
    deal the uppercut. By some unspoken agreement, apparently, whoever would
    call forth the wrath of the Terrible One, would have to answer directly,
    i.e. be the one to go and capture the lecher.
    The affianced couple had other plans, beyond the cold war sizzling
    between their voluminous visual forces. Nabiki smirked mildly, glancing
    upon the two, and mischievously opened the television set, much to the
    chagrin of the two dojo heads.
    She sat back as the business news prattled at how the latest opened
    Switch, Inc. had made an impressive debut, selling out all stocks within
    a record three days. No one noticed, as the youngest Tendo chose to
    vacate the proximity of a certain pig-tailed pervert, which the referred
    to was delighted to oblige, the older two defenders sighing their
    gratitude over the lack of excitement, and with the eldest sister
    clearing the low-slung table.
    One of the well-known errors in human judgment is the ability of
    people to completely forget a danger situation that presented itself mere
    moments ago, mostly distracted by shiny things. Although shiny things
    rarely have concerns with the matters of mice and cats, many have
    complemented the void left by this category of materials. In the case of
    the friends, Tendo and Saotome, it was a board game called go. The
    moment that they revealed the board to the world, the world chose to spit
    it back at them.
    Ranma was in the garden, near the pond, setting up a wooden post to
    send volleys of pain upon, he chilled slightly at the touch of old wood.
    "Son-in-law."
    Turning around, he saw what he expected to see whenever the jab of
    sharp wood would encounter his shoulder blades: an old ghoul. Not
    bothering to bend down to meet her bulbous eyes, he said, "it's you."
    Looking up from her vantage point, she continued. "Happy's been
    sighted, sonny boy. Time to pack your bags."
    Immediately, both Soun and Genma appeared to provide the necessary
    equipment for the three of them. Kasumi took the hint quickly and was
    waving a scarf goodbye, throwing cheery good luck at them. Nabiki simply
    sojourned to her room for her own purposes.
    As they were getting pushed along, Ranma could only ask: "Where
    are we going?"
    Cologne was hopping along on her walking stick as they turned into
    the road. "Mt. Fuji, sonny. Hope you brought a camera on you."
    From a window on the second floor, a worried bride-to-be prayed in
    silence for the safe return of her reluctant groom.
    Closing the door to her room, she caressed the light switch with
    her right hand. After consideration, she went in without turning it on.
    She glided to her bed and slumped into it noiselessly. For a few
    moments, there was no movement.
    She turned on her back and stared at the blackened ceiling in her
    blackened room. Wide-eyed, she refocused her vision to within,
    neglecting the breeze wheedling its way through the half-closed window,
    taking in it the curtains. She hadn't even noticed that the wind
    reversed itself, taking the self-same curtains with it out of the room,
    waving into the horizon.
    Nabiki smirked. She'd been acting too strange today, even for
    herself. She had thought that she could talk it through to herself, but
    it didn't help. She had to admit that she was mightily confused. Her
    heart was beating heavily in her chest as she thought about him.
    She wished that she had a set of stuffed toys or maybe even a
    little pig to hug.
    But there was so much trouble in the offing. There was Ukyo, of
    course, and Akane. There had to be a little something for him in her,
    despite the fact that she was 100% Ranma. Why else would she put a
    bandanna of his on her little piggie?
    The night promised to be cold.
    


	8. Herbs and Spices: Seventh Sign Off


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 07 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny thanks to whoever saw this.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Day 1
    Seventh Sign-Off
    Mousse was flying.
    He could feel the whizz of the air in his ears, and knew right away
    that something was indeed very, very wrong. For one, the one who had
    propelled him into the troposphere's middle was the rather urgently
    passionate set of teeth and arms which had captured him. This had meant
    that this particular set was, in fact, belonging to either a) another
    martial artist or b) an alien. Banking upon the first idea meant that he
    actually knew this person, since martial artists in Nerima tended to meet
    and bash each other. He started to wonder who it was.
    Secondly, this was because whoever it is probably would have
    estimated his body weight incorrectly. But their current ability to
    generate trajectory can lead him to no other conclusion except that this
    person was also a practitioner of Hidden Weapons techniques.
    With the proper moves, he wriggled about a bit and produced an
    anchor, which was thrown with a sufficiently large force, bringing them
    down along with it.
    Kuno had a satisfying dinner. Sasuke was pleased as well (but he'd
    never show it): the mistress had been missing during the meal. When she
    didn't cook, she had this penchant for lacing the meals with all sorts of
    herbs and spices. The manservant mumbled incoherently about how the
    flavor of sashimi was not-quite, but very nearly, utterly destroyed by a
    dash of arsenic in chloroform. (Not that it would be detected by
    anything but the finest of gourmets.)
    The skein of the Kuno Legacy adjourned to his shrines, leaving the
    unassuming ninja to worry about his next task: the duty of feeding the
    mistress's pet. This usually fell upon the shoulders of the lady of the
    house, since she was the one who was spared bodily harm consistently
    during these sessions, but her absence not only required primary alarm
    (how would the principal take it?) but some aftershocks as well (who
    would have to feed the felonious reptile?). He braced himself, armed
    with the bo (recently extracted from the jaws of the beast) and a trayful
    of munchies, he set out to duty.
    As the windows were always shut in a samurai's restful sanctum,
    Kuno missed the third symphony of mistaken meals and panic and pain,
    played in their own yard.
    Mt. Fuji hasn't erupted for hundreds of years now, and many say
    that it never will again. Finding itself on two of the major
    seismovolcanic regions of the world leads many a casual monster-mania
    fiend to just veer away from it, at least until they could assure
    themselves that the top no longer has connections with the inner earth.
    In the next few days, though, pyrotechnics will be taking a minor
    encore.
    Sneaky... well, no. Not really.
    Playful, maybe.
    The female made her way, nimbly fingering the switch to the kitchen
    lights. The old wood meshed wonderfully with the new, so much that the
    fastenings had absorbed the footfalls completely. This was the first
    time she had done this alone, but it did not bother her in the least.
    The dark hallway she was treading ended bathed in light. Her goal,
    though, was the sliding door slightly glowing on her right. The night
    was silent.
    Akane felt the door *swoosh* quickly open, rather than heard. At
    this, she would have either paranoidly searched for intruders or, at
    worst case, scream in abject terror, if it weren't for the fact that she
    had heard, instead, a gently inflected, "tea, Akane?"
    (Akane's much-vaunted retort that she is, in fact, a martial
    artist, with the skills and, more importantly, the reflexes of a good
    one, would attest to the fact that Kasumi had spoken before the door had
    very audibly creaked, so as not to scare the people inside, as was
    intended.)
    The younger Tendo had relaxed before she had begun to tense up,
    cutting through the suspension of disbelief. She turned her head away
    from the thriller on the TV and gave her elder a dimpled smile. "Thanks,
    Kasumi."
    While handing the ceramic mug, she gingerly held her own. She knew
    without looking about what the matter was.
    She realized a whole world of emotion in play at the moment, not
    just with Akane, but with both her siblings. When troubled over
    something, Akane liked to distract herself for as long as she could. On
    the other hand, Nabiki liked to face the matter, by herself. And at
    their age (?), trouble meant only one thing.
    She could, of course, just let nature take its course. Which would
    mean that the youngest Tendo would take matters into her own hands, and
    that the poor young man in question would end up in pain, or in traction.
    And whatever was bugging Nabiki would never come out. She could just
    choose to be the older sister, and keep out of their business. But that
    just wouldn't be her.
    She used the current ambiguity to turn on the lights, and to turn
    off the set. Setting herself down across the table-top's corner to her
    baby sis, she took her first sip. It was a bit colder than she would
    have preferred, and had implied this to her companion, who had had none
    of her own. The stillness in her eyes as she had them transfixed on the
    drink belied her own shaky feelings.
    The truth was that Kasumi had not made light of the situation, and
    had always been concerned as to the state of affairs in the house. It's
    just that anything that tried to put her little sister and (she had no
    doubt) her fiancée together always ended up in a broken and bloodied
    heap. Come to think of it, anything that tried to pull them apart shared
    that fate. A certain sadness came from the two whenever they were caught
    alone without the other, on nights where no large-scale domestic violence
    occurred.
    She might have ventured into trying to convince one that they were
    perfect with the other, except that she had the feeling that they already
    knew. She might have been missing out on what's been happening, even
    with her eternal vigilance. And so, she kept to herself in these
    matters, much as they keep coming up these days.
    But enough was most definitely enough. Much as she loved playing
    matchmaker, she couldn't bear it. Things had to start moving, or else.
    Akane couldn't look into her eyes. "I'll just be upstairs." She
    stood not-too-quickly and made way for the door.
    Kasumi wasn't quite sure that she wanted her to go just yet.
    "Aren't you going to take your bath? We could take it together you
    know."
    The shorthaired girl stopped in mid-step, and turned. "Not
    tonight, sis. I just feel too tired." She faked a yawn, covering tears
    which could have been there already. "Good night."
    Kasumi sipped. She sighed. Not bad, having your two sisters mope
    about, and you couldn't even talk about it with the younger one. How
    could you handle Nabiki, then? She sat in silence for a while, until a
    phone rang.
    Tsubasa wearied. He was in tears, all right. Tears and shreds.
    His dress gave out before he did, but now that the darker night has
    fallen, he couldn't cope. Having ended up on a rooftop, he hadn't
    thought of rain when the lead weight fell on him. Flying boats? What
    would they think of next? And with that, he fell into a silent clump,
    soon followed by some others.
    The train sped through the hollow night, bringing phantom speed. A
    set of four intrepid warriors held the most common of celebrations to the
    start of a hunt: a war dance. But, as the most sophisticated of races
    evolve, the war dance grows with it.
    In the more ferocious cousins of the cat family, it would be held
    in the relative safety of packs, with only the starlight to dance with
    them. The elder primates sought refuge in trees, and thus could not
    partake in such festivities, but their younger siblings rediscovered the
    tradition with their feet on the ground. The earlier tribes had
    intricate and elaborate costumes, with well-choreographed tunes and
    striking colors. As man became domesticated, though, the hunt was soon
    banned, but the celebration lived on in the form of songs, dances and
    video games. A return to nature can, however, occur, and the most
    refined of spirits has many an ingenious scheme of dancing with wolves.
    They were not the most refined of spirits.
    Cologne merely tilted her staff as Ranma, Genma and Soun passed by
    her. Tilting back, she turned to see the youngest of her opponents jump
    up as the others teeter across the gap between their cargo tram to the
    next one. Ranma fell upon the other two, causing them to grasp the
    ceiling of the other bus, inadvertently bridging the space.
    With a nearly feral, but effectively sub-verbal grunt, Ranma stood
    to come at the aged Amazon. The latter took the time to mentally point
    out errors in the maneuver of her opponent, and the proper offense to
    play. He wasn't giving that much battle aura, and kept his temperature
    near cold. His stance belied the impracticability of a Moko Takabisha,
    as they were moving some 200 miles per hour atop Japan's fastest railway
    system. Noting that the top speed of the bullet train was near 500 mph,
    she immediately had come upon several conclusions.
    One was that this was their stop.
    She jumped off her staff, as the train began its turn. This
    effectively tossed the pig-tailed wonder off the cabin ceiling. Hauling
    what and who had remained, the venerable female leapt off in pursuit.
    Ryoga opened his eyes sleepily. He wasn't sure if they were, in
    fact, open or not, because it was too dark to see anything. He felt kind
    of weak, and was already adapting the standard procedure upon finding
    one's self in a strange place (many have touted this to be the boot-up
    for all Hibikis).
    Step 1: Do not panic.
    OK, done.
    Step 2: Slowly, but surely check all body parts.
    Checking... checking... done.
    Step 3: Find familiar landmarks.
    He started to try to turn his head. It was on something soft.
    What was it? It was somewhat taut, underneath a fabric with
    frills. It was dark. Was it... oh God... was it Akane?
    Oh God, it was Akane, he was human, they were in bed, oh dear, step
    4, find a way out, get the hell outta here...!
    As Ryoga was wrestling with a pillow, convincing it to go through
    step 12 (find a secondary light source), while being calm and savvy as a
    man should when in bed with a woman, waking the woman that was in bed
    with him.
    "Uhhhhhhhh..."
    Ryoga stopped in mid-sentence. Ukyo was here, too?
    He wanted to put his hands to his head, except that one of them was
    under the pillow under his head, which he thought was Akane, and another
    one was quite isolated by an arm pinned by the body which he identified
    as Ukyo's. Quite a nice body, too. Ohhhh dear...
    Breathe in, breathe out, stay cool, have to stop the nose bleed...
    A hand came to the rescue, with a bandanna. Nausea gave way to a
    slightly solid feeling of his lower body. Refocusing his eyes, he saw
    that the bandanna was his, the hand was connected to an arm trailing to
    his lower right, where his arm was being pinned by Ukyo's quite-nice
    stomach. He couldn't see her face, but could make out that plain white
    ribbon she wears in her hair. He just gave in to the impulse to breathe.
    Ukyo looked up from where she was, aware that he was conscious and there
    was no blood spewing from any orifices. With her big (hopeful?) eyes,
    she peered beyond her outstretched arm.
    Ryoga had stared into her head before she had noticed, and was
    clearly was into some inner space. His lips were wagging in a way to
    say, "step 43: remove all flammable objects and project ki blasts into
    the clogged portion..." Ukyo had a small cross-eyed look, and may have
    knocked his socks off if not for two facts. These two facts were: her
    hand, on his nose; and, his hand, on her waist. She would have ended up
    in orbit with him.
    He trailed off, not quite saying anything. She started to feel
    quite self-conscientious, indeed. Wriggling a bit, she took the hand
    that was on the other side of her from its owner. She blushed only
    slightly. A young, nubile female such as her, caught in bed with a
    young, marriageable and cute martial artist, who was staring at her with
    such want, such need that was in his eyes...
    Staring at her?
    With a hand in her hand, with them in such close quarters, it was a
    wonder that she was not slapping him silly, screaming "Ryouga no baka!!"
    before sending him into the sky. Maybe, just maybe, she might.
    
    Ranma was worried only that he'd gotten bored before they got
    there. How long has he had to wait? How much has he had to put up with?
    Was it worth it all? The indignation was growing. He knew that when the
    boredom (and, he knew, the loneliness) grew, the only way to beat it was
    with the indignation. When the anger was gone, that was all there is.
    Doing their equivalent of the marathon, the four made their way
    through the night to the next leg, hoping to squeeze in as much time as
    they could.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    (Detach here)
    For lack of anything better to write, I'll digress into the
    character summaries of the first day of Switch:
    Ranma: had two fights, a sparring match, and a "weak" moment with
    Akane, transformed into a girl twice, trained with the fathers, grew a
    mustache, lost the mustache, had four hot baths, had seven okonomiyakis
    before lunch at the Ucchan's, talked about Ryoga with Nabiki, had a talk
    with Dr. Tofu, went to Dr. Tofu's clinic twice, and to the Ucchan's once.
    Presently on the way to Mt. Fuji with Cologne, Soun and Genma, to
    apprehend Happosai. Did not, even once, see Shampoo.
    Akane: had two fights, a sparring match, and a "weak" moment
    during a sunshower with Ranma, had an okonomiyaki before lunch at the
    Ucchan's, went with her fiancée to have a recurring condition removed,
    tried to get her mind off of worries by watching a scary movie.
    Presently in the Tendo dojo with her sisters. Did not, even once, see
    Ryoga in human form.
    Ryoga: paid through the nose thrice, sleep-walked to Ukyo's
    bedroom, slept with both Ukyo and Akane, transformed to a pig once,
    escorted Nabiki to the bank, got kissed by Nabiki at the Ucchan's,
    accidentally peeped through the tops of two blouses, wandered into the
    Cat Cafe, and Kuno's mansion, got into a fight with Mr. Turtle, which
    ended in a draw, has not eaten anything, unless he liked inhaling his
    okonomiyaki. Presently facing possible trajectory from Ukyo's bedroom's
    bed's Ukyo, thinking that the pillow underneath him was Akane's washboard
    stomach. Did not, even once, see Akane (although he did sleep with her).
    Ukyo: slept with P-chan, saw Akane and Ranma together in the
    Ucchan's, saw Nabiki and Ryoga together in the Ucchan's, brought Ryoga to
    her room while he was unconscious, slept about as long as Ryoga, did not
    have lunch, has been having a Kafka-esque day, needs a hug. Presently
    worried about her present status as a nubile young woman, in bed with
    Ryoga, in her bedroom. Did not, even once, see Tsubasa.
    Nabiki: was being suspiciously devious and generally weird,
    suggested Dr. Tofu during the mustache crisis, confronted Ryoga with
    knowledge about him and Akane, went to the bank with Ryoga, had a war of
    wills with Ukyo in the Ucchan's, kissed Ryoga in the Ucchan's, ordered
    take-out for the dojo, met with a totally nondescript individual in the
    park, talked to Ranma about Ryoga, and went to bed early. Presently she
    is in the dojo with her sisters. Did not, even once, see P-chan.
    Kasumi: cooked two breakfasts, missed lunch, went to return a book
    she had borrowed from Dr. Tofu, borrowed another book, took an anonymous
    piece of paper from there, tried to have a talk with Akane, led Kuno in
    with P-chan. Presently on the phone in the Tendo dojo. Did not, even
    once, see Dr. Tofu sane.
    Tofu: talked to Ranma after he got LEO'd after daybreak, fixed
    Ranma up with his facial hair, went wild when Kasumi came in, ended up
    with Betty in the half of Nerima where Nodoka's staying. Presently
    unknown, much like what happened to him in the manga. Did not quite see
    Kasumi.
    Betty: went with the good doctor. Presently unknown. Cannot see.
    Soun: trained with the Saotomes, read his newspaper, watched
    morning animes, chimed in on Ranma's protein problem, checked for Kuno's
    intelligence, saw Nabiki leave with Ryoga, blanked out for a while
    waiting for lunch, smacked the panda, took quick action-telephotography
    lessons, played go. Presently with Ranma, Genma and Cologne on the trip
    to Fuji-yama to fetch the old lech. Did not, even once, see Sasuke.
    Genma: trained with his son (the cur) and best friend, transformed
    only once, went to the zoo as a panda, had some bamboo, saw Nodoka,
    figured out that she was coming to visit, slammed into Mousse, paid for
    the take-out, got bopped by Soun, played go. Presently on the manhunt
    for the Master. Did not, even once, see the hair growth on Ranma.
    Cologne: woke up with a smile, saw Dr. Tofu pass by, knew that
    Shampoo had come from the dojo, found out where Happy was. Presently
    bringing the raiding party to Mt. Fuji. Did not, even once, see
    Happosai, even on the menu.
    Mousse: woke up in the garbage, ripped some pages from Shampoo's
    recipe book, got sent for an errand, got run over by a panda, got caught
    out in the sunshower, was duck-napped by Sasuke, fended off an attack by
    a crazed ninja-chef, got into a one-sided fight with Mr. Turtle while
    being blind, became the object of Kodachi's obsessions, fell them both
    while in mid-flight upon Tsubasa. Presently unconscious with Kodachi,
    Tsubasa and an anchor. Did not, even once, see clearly.
    Happosai: lugged an ice box all the way to Mt. Fuji, all the way
    causing havoc, and general disorder, bumped into Tsubasa in a bamboo
    outfit. Presently waiting in the vicinity of the mountain. Did not,
    even once, see Akane's panties.
    Shampoo: tried to look for eggs, stole half a dozen from Nodoka,
    ended up feeding Tsubasa some lunch after getting caught in the
    sunshower, gave the kiss of death, assuming that Tsubasa was female,
    tried to escape the over-eager advances of the oven-girl, changed into
    feline form by being dumped into the river, got picked up by Akane,
    returned to the Cat Cafe, was brewing up some hate-potion for Tsubasa.
    Presently industriously pondering her next move. Did not, even once, see
    Nabiki.
    Tsubasa: tried to get to the Ucchan's with a minimum of damage,
    after discarding some recipes, got mauled by a panda in the zoo, got run
    over by a speeding pervert, followed a Chinese delivery girl in skimpy
    clothing who kissed him, chased after the aforementioned delivery girl,
    lost self-same, dressed up as a garbage can, a bamboo, a park bench, a
    signpost, a statue of a horse, a telephone pole, an oven, and a fire
    hydrant. Presently unconscious under the influence of heavy metal. Did
    not, even once, see the girl he was looking for at the time he was
    looking.
    Nodoka: bought groceries, needs to have her coif set, planned to
    go to the Tendo dojo, probably is coming by soon, lost a few eggs, saw a
    strange young martial artist with a skeleton on his back. Presently
    asleep at the place she's at. Hasn't seen her family in ten years, would
    you believe?
    Kuno: practiced light-reflection from off of teeth, poem creation,
    and light kendo, tried to woo Akane Tendo, blanked out at morning anime,
    and generally kept himself out of trouble. Presently resting in the
    quarters fit for a warrior of his stature. Did not, even once, see his
    pig-tailed goddess.
    Sasuke: has trailed Ryoga prowling the Kuno estate, been knocked
    off by one of Kuno's air-pressure swipes, been told off by Kodachi, blown
    up by Mousse, swiped some Amazon recipes, stolen a stuffed duck from off
    the road, made a late lunch for his master, and got mauled by his
    mistress's pet. Presently unknown. Did not, even once, see Nabiki.
    Kodachi: has mistaken a fight for survival for a convivial
    aggressiveness on the part of her pet, has inhaled a rather potent love
    potion-aphrodisiac-paralysis drug, and has been enamored by a blind
    Mousse, and was felled by a rather heavy anchor. Presently under
    sedation of a big downer. Did not, even once, see Ranma darling. Ho -
    HO - ho HO Ho - ho!
    Mr. Turtle: has not eaten, has tried to eat three other main
    characters, is very tired. Presently in his pond. Did not, even once,
    win a match.
    Principal Kuno: is in Hawaii, thank God. Hasn't been seen since.
    The man: woke up late, met up with Nabiki, confirmed the safety
    of... Presently asleep in a fourth floor apartment with a busted light.
    Did not see a mirror, and probably feels bad because of it.
    Having said all that, it makes me think that there's not much left
    to do. Unfortunately, the odyssey has just begun. What wonders could
    occur within the next day of mishaps? Will there be a point to all the
    pairings-up and machinations? When will the main story arrive? Who the
    hell is the man? And, will this still be the first fanfic to do what I'd
    planned to do with this for a while now by the time that I get there?
    The answers I do have do quite answer them, but I'm willing to part
    with them for a minimum fuss. The crystal ball has told me that:
    - there will be some use of more herbs and spices (no surprise).
    - there will be a big geyser in the sky.
    - pairs will be made, and pairs will be broken.
    - the build up of a major change is coming.
    - more of what hasn't come out is coming out, but the color yellow
    is not in the future.
    - a new dojo occupant arrives.
    - a wedding is in the offing.
    And with that, the crystal ball went kaput.
    Please somehow send C&C.
    And this time, I'm making sure to wait for it.
    (Detach here)
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    


	9. Odds and Ends: Just Damp


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Odds and Ends: Just Damp by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny thanks to whoever saw this.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Skipping about in the story, and compiling whatever post-mortem and pre-
    natal side stories which may come to mind, Odds and Ends has them all.
    Side stories from the minds of the people (and non-people) of NFT fics.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    (Seventh Sign-Off) Day 1
    One of the more prominent thinkers of the early 20th century, Carl
    Jung, had followed-up his mentor's studies in the field of
    psychoanalysis. That mentor, Sigmund Freud, had founded some very
    critical and very scientifically pertinent work on the study of how the
    human mind worked. They were in accord regarding the point that there
    was a deeper and more complex level of consciousness involved in the day
    to day living of such normal beings as you and me. But they had only
    scratched the surface of the matter, and left a rather peculiar vacuum in
    the pioneering of psychology (without so much as to leave a will and
    testament or, the very least, a theorem that most hobbyists in the field
    would crawl out of the woodwork to try to prove/disprove, much to the
    annoyance of institutions built to give away amazingly small amounts of
    prize money to the resolution thereof).
    But, having spoken their last words years back, it would be fitting
    to say that, as to theories that were put forth by great scientists in
    general, and by Carl Jung in particular, there will always be people to
    back them up, people who would exploit their potential conclusions, and
    people who would write stories based on them.
    
    It was always afternoon in the park. A small breeze wafted its way
    through the monkey bars, with an impression left by its Western
    counterpart that someone out there was watching. No one was.
    The swing was often-used, and it was no surprise that a young woman
    would be sitting there. There was something about sitting on a chair
    that had no legs and could be swayed to and fro that helped ease the mind
    of a troubled soul; the shorthaired girl, though, was unappeased. When
    the wind passed her by, she gave a shiver and tried, not-successfully, to
    cover her bare arms and shoulders with her tiny hands. She felt warmth
    in them, but feared that this, too, would leave, and that she would have
    to go looking for it.
    She would have felt the need to fix her hair, strung about in a
    dead and dry manner, but she hadn't cared. She hadn't even been bothered
    by her outfit, though she wasn't usually accustomed to wearing a tank-top
    and shorts outside the house. She just held on to the chain, which held
    her up, her gaze upon the road. She wondered where she would turn if she
    had found herself on it.
    Her companion, she had felt, was standing not too far off to the
    right. She gave an unquestioning look to Mousse, who stood wrapped in a
    heap of chains without his glasses.
    "Have a seat?"
    He sat down on the swing that was unoccupied and said nothing.
    A bunch of kids in hard hats passed by, and weren't heard nor
    listened to. They had stopped to give jeers and searing gazes, but were,
    more or less, not important.
    "I wonder whose kids those were."
    She didn't have a knack at nattering. As soon as she couldn't
    follow up what she was thinking, she clammed up and stared.
    Falling, through a hazy green-yellow sky. She didn't feel that
    worried about her falling. It was as though she had been falling through
    a never-ending river of rose-petals, caressing her every sensation. She
    was slowing, ever so slowly...
    She opened her eyes, and through them she could see the blue-green
    grass that rolled to the far browned plains. She imagined being happy,
    but didn't really get beyond this fuzzy feeling of... contentment. She
    so wanted to sigh, but was so at ease that such an effort was
    unnecessary.
    The laugh did not, could not, find its way to her throat. But the
    smile started to spread from her lips, to her face, and tempted to
    overcome her entire being. She began to glow, but only with a slight
    sheen. An impulse to wander presented itself, and her feet barely
    floated as she went to venture on her own.
    He felt walking, floor, wood and the smell of wonderment was gone.
    He had left a room of soft-cushioned walls, and was on the way to be
    illuminated, there was a light in a shaft of white. There was some sort
    of blossom show, and a tingling sensation was locking itself onto his
    skin.
    He gazed into the beam to a shadowplay of trees and silk. He saw
    Akane, in a kimono, with a bamboo umbrella. She was in a sitting
    position, and was gazing towards an unknown. She turned, so lovely, so
    unassuming and she spoke to him. He couldn't stop himself, walked
    closer, to the tree, and found himself taking a seat not quite opposite
    to Nabiki. She didn't quite smile, but she did not look into his soul.
    He began to wonder what she was doing in that tree. "What are you doing
    in that tree?"
    "This tree? It's mine."
    "What would you want to do with a tree?" as he began to pummel the
    trunk with all sorts of kicks and punches. The tree was beginning to
    shiver but the occupant was nary impressed.
    "I bought this tree," she began, "because I liked seeing things."
    "Seeing things, huh." He started running circles around the trunk,
    which had a velvety touch. It was a sexy kind of tree, and the shade of
    blue it was hued came out as Ukyo's wraparound, unraveling without its
    bandoleer, under Nabiki's calm-world perusal.
    "Give me a hug," said the tree.
    "Give me a kiss," said Nabiki.
    He stepped on the lowest roots, flowing outward, blanket in a windy
    night, enfolding him as he found handholds in Ukyo's navel, the hollows
    of her shoulders, the crook of her arm, her delicate fingers, as they
    felt him, and he felt them, all of them. Nabiki sat in the tresses of
    her light brown hair, with wings of a butterfly, so far to him, so
    taunting, and so tiring to see. He sat down on the branch he was closest
    to.
    Ukyo turned to him and said nothing, the tree was no longer blue,
    but the ground ate away at the color, laying only white and pink, which
    made the tree look soft and hard at once. He felt through the upper
    branches, and they came with him like fragrant willow's wisps, snaking
    not quite around him, tentatively.
    Nabiki flew by to kiss his ear, but he heard her say, "you're such
    a pig," not that he could complain, it was all true. But she kissed him,
    dammit, that should mean something to her, it meant something to him.
    Ukyo just shook her head, her hair covering the sky.
    He sat up.
    It was a nice afternoon. The yellow of the sun's spectrum
    refracted itself into his eyes, by way of his glasses. Dr. Tofu gently
    removed them, and noticed that they had weighed nothing. The realization
    signified that he had dozed off from what he was doing. What was he
    doing? He glimpsed briefly at the junction in the road he was suddenly
    on, and arbitrarily took a left. He couldn't exactly recognize the
    place, but he simply took into account that he had been here recently.
    Probably in the other side of Nerima.
    A few steps brought him to a comfortably downtown house he had
    noticed on his way back to the clinic. There was a woman who had her
    back turned to him, who was bent at the waist. She was picking something
    up. Knowing that the dream would unravel itself, he did what he felt he
    should and went to the woman, who was straightening.
    Nodoka felt awkward to dream about being at home, as it was the
    place she was most at. A lot of more interesting occurrences have
    happened at the Tendo dojo, but this was what she got. The first thing
    she had noticed when she started to sweep the road in a familiar manner
    was a small but long swath of cloth. Picking it up, she saw that it was
    a belt, and one used to fasten one's gi. It was kiddie-sized, and felt
    old and well-used. She sensed someone behind her, who had been there for
    quite some time, and she turned.
    Dr. Tofu returned his glasses, and stared into the eyes of someone
    who must be Kasumi, but from a far-flung future. He couldn't help but
    start to feel jittery. He fought to keep himself in check, that he's had
    dreams of her before, and that this was just some manifestation of her.
    Once sobered, he opted to act cool. "Hello."
    "Hello," the phantom image of future-Kasumi replied. "Do I know
    you from somewhere?"
    This was bad. The doctor's self-confidence ebbed. His
    representation of a future Kasumi didn't even remember him. "I'm Dr.
    Tofu. From the clinic."
    "I'm sorry but I can't recall... oh!" Nodoka remembered seeing him
    earlier, with the skeleton. "You're the martial artist? And a doctor,
    too?" She wondered where she had picked up the name. East wind, eh?
    "Um, yes." Odd that the first thing that would come to mind was
    that he was a practitioner of defensive arts, not of healing arts. He
    notched it down to his own perspective of the young homemaker being in a
    martial arts family.
    Nodoka had some fleeting notion that this dream wanted to tell her
    something, but her initiative was required. "Excuse me," she started,
    "but were you at the Tendo dojo?"
    Her reference to the dojo as someone else's property struck him as
    odd, but it would seem that Kasumi would take the duty of being a wife as
    much as belonging to another family. "Uh, no, but would you like to go
    there?" He wasn't quite sure why they were moving, but a nod from his
    companion affirmed it.
    She left the rolling hills after what seemed was a long walk. The
    surroundings paled into a yellow sort of hot, and she found herself
    walking on the road. She knew that she rarely walked on the road, and
    thus took some careful notice of what she saw. There were several
    telephone posts, with advertisements for things such as job openings and
    midnight sales, but none of these really concerned her.
    After several meters, she had walked into a familiar looking
    playground. She had been an avid child, and stayed often here. She felt
    herself rising as she passed the swings, and the teeter-totters, and the
    monkey bars. There were people there, but she sensed rather than saw
    them, and knew that they were people she knew, all of them. Some were
    people she hated, and others were people she cherished, but they all
    faded as she came to the foot of the ladder.
    Quickly, she came up the rungs, how high it was. It was as high as
    she's always known it to be. Peering down, she felt her first inklings
    of fear, but she had outgrown it, those years past. Still, she closed
    her eyes as she started to slide.
    He came out from under the mass of anchor that had fallen upon him,
    and realized that a whole boat, which had been held aloft by a balloon,
    had trashed the roof he had unluckily been atop of. Checking his limbs,
    Tsubasa swept the scene with a gaze. The carnage took most of the
    building's ceiling, and he could peer inside a room which had no
    occupants.
    It was still nighttime, and he felt that something more refreshing
    than getting hit on the noggin by a galleon was getting his exercise, and
    so he fled the disaster area.
    She took her regular place, out of the limelight, and where she
    could see everyone. Usually, it was the dining room, or any other room
    in the house. She was not quite privy to those that did occur in the
    rooms in the second floor, but she could hear them; it wasn't as though
    they were being private about it.
    She sat upon a roof, knowing that it wouldn't rain. Not that it
    would have mattered: she had an umbrella along. The kids were at play
    and she, and only she, would watch over them, like the mother she wanted
    to be.
    She could feel every one of them, their miseries, their
    distractions, their need to relate with the world. The world related to
    them, each in its own special way. She giggled at the self-inflicted
    reprimand.
    It was a weird sort of play, with some of them pantomiming, and
    with their weird poses around the furnishings. They spoke their lines
    without ever really wondering if there was someone who would listen, who
    would care.
    There was a four-person ballet of sorts on the monkey bars, with
    one of them in a pig costume. Someone was doing acrobatics near the
    slide. On the swing, there was Akane, in a cloak of self-defeat, and a
    duck in a nest of metal. Akane was paying attention to the scene that
    was unfolding nearby, again distracting herself from her pain, becoming
    more like herself as time progresses. She wanted to reach out to her
    again, but held back; this was her time, her grief to bear, in the
    safety and silence of her own.
    She kept her eyes open, taking it all in, when she noticed the
    Doctor in a corner of her mind. He was walking and talking with a woman
    she couldn't readily see. As soon as they came within view, they receded
    from it.
    She turned back to her charges, and wondered where one of them was.
    He was so often in the picture that she started to think about where he
    was. But she could only wait. And she did.
    He was startled by the fact that he was in a tree, looking down
    upon the silence of the world. There she was, as serene as the night
    that borne her. She spoke of confidence and majesty, in her posture.
    She had an audience of captive hearts entranced by her.
    He tried to jump down, and felt that he couldn't. He was not yet
    part of the big scene. He wanted to be part of it, if just so that he
    could come inches closer to the one who had stolen his mind, his soul.
    But alas, he alone was an audience captive.
    She turned to a side, to talk to a robed figure, who took a seat
    beside her. Replacing her glance to the front, she muttered sweet
    nothings into the air.
    How could he be so helpless? To hear her voice, he had only to
    lean forward, but the spell upon him prevented it. Curse this! Curse it
    all!
    The world darkened around him, as consciousness returned.
    He took a left and found himself staring at a dead end.
    "Oops."
    This wasn't here a while back. Come to think of it, I thought I
    was here a while back. That boat must have hit harder than I thought.
    Gotta get to a doctor, or a bed, or something...
    She was floating. It was only the floating she's had in quite a
    while. It only meant that things had been too unreal for her, and she
    had been unreal for the world. It was giving her not only a headache,
    but a heartache as well.
    It was not very nice of fate to hand her such a situation. But
    she's always known how to get the most out of a pair of deuces.
    She sort of felt the change in direction, though the loss of
    gravity. She finally opened her eyes.
    It was a tower. A black and yellow tower.
    She instantly felt gravity assert itself as she eased unto the top.
    A little breathless, she heaved a sigh of relief.
    She was kind of high up, and she could notice several people near
    the base of the tower. Notice them, much due to the noise they were
    producing.
    Ryoga was there, locked in an intimate embrace with Ukyo. She felt
    herself start to heat up. She could not, she noticed, try to remove
    herself from her current, and rather precarious, position.
    It was the male who first saw her. "What are you doing up there?"
    Indeed, what was she doing up there? "Up here? I'm spying."
    Ukyo was nuzzling herself upon him. "Who would you want to spy
    on?" She felt a rumbling, and hoped it would not alter her current
    altitude drastically.
    "I was spying on you."
    "Spying on me, huh." Ryoga and Ukyo were starting to revolve
    around her tower, much to her dismay, and began to rise higher and higher
    alongside her. There was more rumbling, and Ukyo's hair started
    billowing in the air, as though alive in the ambient energy. She
    screamed uselessly into the wind, no voice erupting from her throat, as
    the two lovers fated themselves into the higher unknowns.
    She bowed her head. "You're such a pig."
    It's common knowledge that in a dream, not all of the senses work.
    A lack of smell might make itself obvious, or the peculiar silence might
    weigh itself heavily. But, it is a rare occurrence for a complete lack
    of sight to characterize itself in a dream.
    Rare, and almost unheard of, except for those who live partially in
    the lack of sight.
    Mousse could not tell completely that he was in fact dreaming, nor
    could he figure out exactly where he was. He had abruptly landed
    earlier, via the anchor he had brought out, but had lost his sight quite
    before that. As a result, he was totally disoriented with the change of
    consciousness.
    He felt that he was being bogged down by something, as though
    whoever had held on to him had forgotten to let go, even through the fall
    that they had both experienced. The lack of seduction on the part of his
    captor, though, was something of a mixed blessing.
    He felt like walking, and did so, under so much duress, until a
    voice spoke. It said, "have a seat?" He found it with the minimum of
    fuss, and sat down.
    The voice said: "I wonder whose children those were."
    Children. He had thought back to his own childhood, and realized
    that there wasn't much to speak of. He had known, since then, who the
    one true love he had was, and that the same did not give a whit of care.
    His whole life had been given over to that someone, so much that anything
    else done was a means to an end, which he hoped was a happy one.
    But, look at it now. So pointless. So blank, so dark, and so
    alone.
    He had no reason to go on, in any direction. The mastery of his
    art could have taken place, where it not for his attainment of it. He
    was at the peak of what he could be, and had nothing to show of it.
    He couldn't see his future, neither could he learn from his past.
    He stood up and walked again.
    Dr. Tofu had had some doubts as to whether or not he wanted to
    continue in the following of this particular dream, but felt too
    restricted to leave. Besides, he had had problems asking Kasumi for
    permission to leave, much less leave her before they got to their
    destination. And so, he had opted, at least, to stay civil.
    Nodoka, on the other hand, had whiled herself away, nimbly counting
    the stitches on the underside of the belt. She knew exactly how many
    there were, as she was the one who had sewn it together, for her young
    and impressionable son. It only served to attest to her increasing
    suspicions that she was doing the right thing, not only in trusting her
    guardian angel (a doctor, and a martial artist, too), but in coming with
    him to the Tendo dojo. She let go of the cloth, which lay limp across
    the hollow of her right shoulder, as she took the turn that took her
    directly into...
    ... the playground. It was surreal, but the turn he knew would
    take them to the front door with the familiar "to defeat owner" sign took
    them straight into the park/playground which was only a few blocks from
    his clinic. A look from his companion signified that she had thought the
    same.
    Oh well. This dream could exactly get worse, could it?
    At a 24-hour shop, a goat in a blue coat and tie was sipping a cup
    of steaming coffee. The good thing about coffee in a dream was that it
    couldn't exactly upset your stomach at any time of the day, unless you
    wanted it to. He was waiting on this little girl, who was looking
    somewhat lost. The young girl was looking apprehensive with her large
    eyes, and was shuffling her tiny flat-soled shoes in mild annoyance.
    He cleared his throat, and adjusted his bifocals. "Yes?"
    She stared into his face. "You weren't listening."
    He shifted in his seat... just so. "I was."
    She finally slid into the seat across the table, as a belly dancer
    was entertaining a balding man in his pajamas. "Then tell me."
    He started. "Excuse me?"
    She crossed her arms in front of her. "Tell me my story. The way
    I told you."
    He laughed nervously at the little girl. She was keen, he could
    tell, but he really was listening. He just wasn't very good at
    storytelling.
    He looked her back in the eye. "Are you sure you want me to maul
    your story? I do not carry the same panache as you yourself do." Try to
    get out of a situation if possible.
    She just turned her head and said, "I'm waiting."
    He released a sigh of disappointment. "Let me see. If I've got
    this figured out.
    "This story of yours is about a princess and a commoner. They were
    childhood friends, where neither of them was aware of the heiress's
    heritage," he accented a long e in neither. "The commoner, a simple guy,
    falls in love at first sight with the young royalty. She, not quite
    responsive, gives him the heave-ho. The guy, who is lucklessly struck by
    the princess, dogs her for years. She, on the other hand, gives no
    space."
    She had already turned her head to look intently at him, as though
    trying to make more sense of the scene being drawn from someone else's
    mouth. A fish was trying to sell the Eiffel tower to an uninterested
    pair of dogs on the street corner, on the outside. He, on the other
    hand, was just getting into it.
    "Finally, she falls in love with this foreigner, an heir in his own
    right, and flies away to be wed. The fellow just cannot get the point,
    and follows her. But, the plot thickens.
    "He finds out that she is the one who wants to marry him, not the
    other way around. In a tragic twist of fate, he confronts her with his
    undying affections, and tries to claim her as his own. He fights the
    prince, who is no slouch and easily overcomes him. Comparing the sheer
    persistence of her suitor to the lack of persistence in her chosen
    savior, she begins to feel stirrings for the sucker. And, in the end,
    she loses them both?"
    She nodded at the interrogative tone in her story-reteller's
    statement, trying not to be distracted by the raining meatballs which
    were pelting various penguins out of their tuxes crossing the street.
    Having finished his half of the bargain, he introduced her to hers.
    "And why, if I may, was the ending so abrupt? There was a large amount
    of leeway for a restitutive solution to the dilemma."
    She merely tilted her head. "And you have a solution, I guess?"
    He took another sip, to parch listless lips. "I do."
    She stirred in her sleep, and, in her, the dream stirred.
    There was some large force keeping her where she was, and it felt
    unnerved to the touch. She felt her arms to be constricted about her, as
    though in a chrysalis, an ever-changing nightmare. Various playful-child
    noises passed by, and she felt more tense than comforted.
    Someone, someone help me, she thought, but could not voice out her
    fears. Tears began to form as the silence began to suffocate her.
    In her mind's eye she saw Ryoga, walking slowly, unhurriedly,
    toward her.
    Help me! she gasped breathlessly. Free me!
    His eyes asked. Why? How?
    Please...
    A shuddering sensation came as she thought to look up. A Nabiki
    with wings on her feet came to rest above her own paroxysmal frame. Come
    to me...
    Yes, Ryoga said, changing direction slightly.
    No! She shook with cold rage. He's mine!
    But, the floating one replied, are you his?
    Ryoga started to float toward the winged temptress.
    Ryoga... don't... leave...
    
    Tsubasa wandered about, like a drunken duck. After doing figures-
    eight, a turn led him to two bystanders. "Is there a doctor in the
    house?" he said, not quite sure why.
    Dr. Tofu was surprised to see a somewhat beaten-up young man
    unsolidly approach them and ask for a doctor. "I'm a doctor. What seems
    to be the matter?"
    The longhaired youth swagger-staggered to look at him with crossed
    eyes. "I got hit by a boat, can ya fix me up?"
    Laying the boy on the ground, he immediately went through a routine
    check and realignment of each appendage and torso joint. After three
    seconds, he said, "feeling better?"
    Tsubasa stood up to shake his arms. "Wow! I feel better already!"
    He turned to thank the doctor.
    Dr. Tofu just laughed.
    Nodoka gaped at the gleefully hopping multivestite. "Excuse me,"
    she started, indicating the receding form, "was that a boy or a girl?"
    Dr. Tofu blinked, then readjusted his spectacles. "male, I think."
    Nodoka just stared. "Oh."
    Falling, through a hazy green-yellow sky. She didn't feel that
    worried about her falling. It was as though she had been falling through
    a never-ending river of rose-petals, caressing her every sensation. She
    was slowing, ever so slowly....
    
    She floated from the roof she was sitting on, and landed facing a
    wall. Beyond the wall was the set of monkey bars that set stage to a
    play of words and flickering emotions. Grasping the top, she floated in
    just in time to see him pass by.
    Kuno had that dream again.
    He had slept for only as long as Mr. Turtle was snapping before he
    saw the dream in his mind's eye.
    He was walking, as one of his stature would, until he came upon
    Akane Tendo, profile set upon the horizon, with the sun setting beyond
    her. As he had deigned to declare his love (and rush toward her, readied
    for an endearing embrace), she sat stilled and turned away.
    Curious, he stopped and turned to look.
    What he saw made him weep, and he woke.
    Akane had turned from the scene, quite unloved by herself, and the
    sky had darkened; a storm was brewing , but it had seemed to suck itself
    into the sky. She shook herself up, more frail than bones, she felt that
    she wanted to shout, but no one was there to listen to her but strangers
    and jeering, sneering children that were never hers. She wanted to shout
    into the maelstrom of time, the wretch of reality, the futility of free
    will how she wanted it to stop or end or die, die without saying goodbye;
    she'd never, ever want to do that...
    She felt a shriek come forcibly into her throat, and she saw him,
    it was him, all along, an angel, wings beating against the wind, against
    all odds and ends. He was shining, smiling; she felt herself grow so
    beautiful in his eyes.
    The wind should have deafened her.
    The cold should have frozen her.
    The sharpness should have scalded her tongue.
    The odors should have nauseated her.
    But, all it was, was him and her.
    He reached for her, and she saw a ray of light. Suddenly, the
    twister stopped, and like a kite losing its altitude, he spiraled in
    front of her.
    "No!" her voice, full, found surface.
    He was being swallowed into the ground, and his arm jutted weakly,
    holding a shiny ring. She braced, caught his hand, and fell through the
    earth with him.
    Gosunkugi woke up, having exactly three minutes and forty-nine
    seconds of sleep. "Happens every time," he mumbled, and went to light a
    candle to oil his voodoo spikes by.
    Day 2 (Eighth Hour's Sleep and a Moment's Dream)
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    (Detach here)
    The Odds and Ends line is more of a collection of slightly
    inebriated-sounding vignettes than a complete storyline, sort of like
    stories cut out for sheer insanity, or just excerpted for being examples
    of bad humor. More to come of this, as the story unfolds.
    I'm now becoming more comfortable with the mailing lists I'm on and
    with some of my cohorts busy peddling their own wares, I found the time
    to continue the story. With all the C&C, support and assorted happy-
    happy-joy-joy stuff I get in the mail, I'll probably be half pushing
    through day 2 and half heavily revising day 1. As Vector told me, I do
    have LOTS of errors. (If someone sees me putting the bath on the second
    floor again, tell me.)
    Publicly, I'll thank those on the ronin ML and FFML2 who mailed me
    various responses, all of which I am thankful for: Keener Barnes (my
    first and fastest responder), Peggy Stonnel (my harsh mistress of
    grammar, who whipped my fic into shape), Jim Franks (who just mailed to
    say the work was being read), MDump@aol.com (who merely asked for
    renumbering), Terence Marks (who talked about the weather/climate and
    more), Korhonen Kai Petter (who I will give a copy of my revisions, if I
    am able to make them), and LaShawn Taylor (who wondered what Switch was
    all about -- with the rest of us).
    Good day to all.
    (Detach here)
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    


	10. Herbs and Spices: Eighth Hour's Sleep an...


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 08 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny thanks to whoever saw this.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Day 2
    Eighth Hour's Sleep and a Moment's Dream
    In an almost perfectly rectangular district of Tokyo, it became
    quiet. It was quiet only because it was almost three in the morning;
    even perverts weren't around doing their jobs at this time.
    In the silence, a town slept.
    While those awake rested from having fought forces of perversion
    and insanity at their strongest (whether having made jackasses of
    themselves or having inquired lodgings in the nearest mental institutions
    they could locate), those asleep dreamt.
    After exactly two-hundred-and-twenty-nine seconds, chaos returned
    from recession.
    Happosai blinked.
    He had been lost in thought over the beautiful white that
    surrounded him on the top of Fuji-yama. He clapped his hands three
    times, and meditated for a while longer.
    After that, he opened his icebox, and began enjoying life's more
    pink pleasures.
    Gosunkugi sat up, fully awake.
    It never bothered him that for as long as he could remember, he's
    only had three minutes and forty-odd seconds of sleep every day, at
    exactly the same time of night, just before three in the morning. Too
    bad that no one really needed to be awake this awkward hour: he was more
    reliable than any alarm clock.
    It had been useful, at times. During the school time, for example,
    he could brush up on past lessons. During vacations, though, he could
    get some work done on any of his little hobbies, like witchcraft. One
    could never read enough of the lore.
    "Happens every time," he muttered, looking for three candles (one
    for the table, two for his head), the oil, and his five-inch nails. One
    also could never be prepared enough, either.
    On a bed in the second floor of the Ucchan's, two intertwined
    bodies rolled over one another, switching their positions. Ryoga, being
    the one on top, was the first to react.
    Many people could attest to the fact that the senses worked better
    before dawn, past midnight. In fact, Ryoga could immediately make out
    the form and figure of one ninja-cook below his own. As a result, he
    went against step one: he panicked like a headless chicken.
    "AAppht-," he nearly shouted, before he had a mouthful of long
    brown hair. He sputtered; he jostled. He tried to disengage their
    arms, and failed. He tried to avoid the fragrant scent of her just below
    him, and to avoid touching any part of her, clothed or not, as though
    contact was acid. But, he couldn't; and her skin was not corrosive, in
    any way. In fact, it felt... soft. Ohhhh... OK. This was it. He was
    going to lose it, now... think cool thoughts...
    He thought of the bed. He thought of Ukyo. He saw himself, and
    Ukyo, on a bed. Oops.
    He thought that it wouldn't be nice if he bled all over Ukyo and
    her nice bed, with her on it, so he tried to roll off of it. He forgot
    that he was twined with the young lady, and almost fell on her as they
    fell off the bed.
    Luckily, she carpeted her floor. Unluckily, she carpeted the
    floor.
    Nabiki rolled in her sleep. Had she woken, she would have
    remembered all the nuances of her dream. She didn't want to; she
    soundlessly continued her slumber.
    "Aaaagh!" Ranma shook himself out of the dream. They were still
    on the last and longest train ride they would take before hiking to the
    top of Mount Fuji.
    It was amazing that they caught the train this early, which would
    take them within ten kilometers of the foot of the mountain in the next
    five hours. He couldn't really remember a train that traveled this
    route, but they were lucky to catch it anyhow. Hopefully, their luck
    would hold in their oncoming match.
    It was imperative that they catch the evil master before he could
    do his mischief, because they were the only ones who could. A summer
    ago, it took the Californian coast guard a whole month to nab the old
    freak and his spirit friend (or fiend), and a week for the havoc to start
    again. That was also the week classes started again, he recalled.
    His mind wandered back to his dream. He had come back home, with a
    present for Akane. But, in the dream, he had fallen into a hole,
    dragging Akane along with him.
    What did it mean? He drew a hand from within the blanket he was
    wrapped in to scratch his hand. Was Akane's birthday coming up? He knew
    it wouldn't come up quite yet. His stomach gave a small motion: it
    didn't quite sit well with decidedly hostile dreaming.
    He allowed himself a star and a moment to think of Akane by, before
    he gave in to the night.
    "Aaaagh!" Akane woke with a start. She sat up quickly in the
    dark. Having checked her flower-motif watch, she knew that it was merely
    a few minutes past three.
    A knock on the door was followed by an inquiry: "What's wrong,
    Akane?"
    "Oh, nothing, Kasumi." A silence in the dark wanted to the filled.
    The younger one fixed herself in the dark, suddenly aware that her hair
    was such a mess. "Can-... can you...?"
    The door opened soundlessly. Although she couldn't discern the
    colors, she knew that her older sister was wearing her lavender silk
    pajamas. It showed her maturity on her, the way it flowed slowly from
    her shoulders, like her hair, like the rest of her... slipping, sliding
    into the floor of the house. She blinked. A little hesitantly, the
    keeper of her home sat down on the foot of her bed, and she held her
    blanket to her below her chin.
    "Care to talk about it?" Kasumi started with a smile that closed
    her eyes. Her younger sibling looked confused, and she realized that,
    for her, it was a very prying question.
    "I-... it was a ring."
    She turned to the girl in yellow pajamas, who turned her eyes to a
    point approximately a foot from the edge of the bed. She spoke without
    looking at her listener. "He-... Ranma-... he gave me a ring. Then
    he...," followed by a loss of words.
    This troubled Kasumi for several reasons. Akane was not prone to
    being excessively talkative about her and Ranma's engagement, or her
    dreams. It had to have been a dream, and a rather disturbing one,
    because she had the exact same one, with Ranma giving his fiancée a shiny
    ring, and the two of them being sucked into the ground. She had just
    woken up from it.
    But, most important yet, it had hit whatever had been troubling her
    sister squarely on the head. She needed to talk to him, not to her. But
    she was the only one there.
    "Shhh... it's okay." She motioned to approach her distraught
    sibling, but stopped a short distance later. She took the hands that
    wrapped themselves on shaky knees into her own, and squeezed slightly.
    She didn't really know for whom the gesture was for. Akane then looked
    her in the eyes, and she gave her best impression of quiet confidence.
    "I... what does it mean?" It was a desperate question, one she had
    to answer. It meant a lot of things, things she wasn't going to reveal.
    Not yet.
    Kasumi thought she knew. "Nothing," she lied. "Nothing at all."
    Kuno should have woken up; he usually did when he had such a
    nightmare as he had just had. He would have then blamed it upon the fact
    that Sasuke had neglected to continue the shadowplay he had not concluded
    the other night. That would have resulted in such a foreseen disaster,
    relayed to him by his subconscious as the earth engulfing his two true
    loves. But he did not. He was content to lay where he was until the
    dawn broke, sweating.
    The trio on the top of the Cat Cafe was content to roll around on
    the roof. The two that were locked in a vise-like grip (or, the one
    locked in a vise-like grip by the other) merely rolled slowly from side
    to side, with the female on top. (One would have assumed that the
    particular female that was on top of the particular pair on top of the
    particular roof would have wanted to be particularly on top, and would
    have been wrong for thinking so.)
    The third just rolled off the roof, and ended up two stories below
    on a side street. The fact that the figure was in a sleeveless shirt and
    boxer shorts could not predetermine the events resulting from the
    discovery of only two not-so-primly-dressed people on the rooftop.
    Dr. Tofu mumbled incoherently into the flat of the desk in front of
    him. Because the desk was hard, and he was wearing glasses, he had lain
    his head sideways. Many of those who sleep in the middle of classes
    would find that, given a prescribed amount of time, a certain amount of
    homeostatic imbalance would occur.
    He startled himself awake by realizing that he had slept for four
    hours. The desk lamp was still open, though his books had been arranged
    rather neatly on the head on the table. What he was holding in his left
    hand was a pencil, and that he only used... then he saw the letter.
    It had a huge wet stain on it.
    He patted the right corner of his mouth. He took out a
    handkerchief and patted that at the offending trail. He then took a look
    at what he had written, and found that the saliva had made the paper
    translucent, and that the lead could not be made out, from the white
    background. He crumpled the paper, and threw the wad into a wastebasket.
    He then went in search for a basin to wash his hands in.
    He left the handkerchief on one of the beds, then thought the
    better of it, and took it to the back, to the clothes hamper. Wouldn't
    want to be a messy bachelor. He wondered why the laundry bin was so
    full, though. Didn't I just do the wash yesterday? He shook his head.
    All this out-of-schedule sleeping was giving him some jet lag. Bad for
    the body.
    He went to the desk, and sat in front of it, out of habit. Or was
    it that he was tired? He rubbed the bridge of his nose, having taken his
    glasses off. No... just drained. He reversed the direction of rubbing,
    and put on the glasses again. He thought about the reverie he had. How
    Kasumi would look when she was older. How he still felt the same about
    her. How she had forgotten about him...
    No. There wasn't any need for regret. There was time, time enough
    to spare. And letters, letters to send. He took the books and began to
    return them to their shelves.
    He put the books straight in, each in their proper slot. He
    noticed that the book of acupuncture poems had mysteriously returned, but
    the book which was entitled "365 Days of Herbs and Spices: Proper Gift
    Preparation" was now missing. It wasn't in its place alongside its
    supplement, "Leap Year Seasoning", and he couldn't recall having needed
    it today.
    He couldn't remember hanging the phone up, but the receiver was off
    its cradle, and it hung limply along the side of the low cabinet. He set
    it back, hoping that he wouldn't be called in for an emergency in the
    next three hours. In that case, he pondered, Ranma and Akane should put
    off arguing among themselves or with other people for a short while.
    He fixed some bedsheets, potted plants, tables, and low-lying
    overhead lamps. He supposed that most clinics across Nerima had the same
    state of dishevelment, due mainly to the nature and the breeding of the
    clientele.
    Finally, before he closed the desk lamp, he considered very
    carefully whether or not he would redo the note he had ruined earlier.
    He couldn't help but think back to that other letter. It was still the
    best he'd ever written, but it was still... off. It was still lacking.
    He wondered if he'd ever make it good enough for... for what it was
    written for.
    He picked up the envelope, one like hundreds before it. He sighed.
    Maybe he should just send them to his mother. Maybe she'd know what to
    do with them. He didn't.
    Nodoka slipped from the dream into the still sleep. She knew
    better than to wake up before she had to. And there was at least two
    more hours before that.
    Ryoga was almost able to disentangle himself from the knot that he
    formed with Ukyo and her blanket. He tried to keep his bearings straight
    to form a coherent picture of what exactly he was doing in Ukyo's bedroom
    while Ukyo was in it, and, if worse came to worst, if there was something
    memorable about it. He thought blindly into the concept. Then he felt
    the need to donate some blood in the bathroom sink.
    He stood up, took a few quick steps, then fell face-first into the
    floor.
    The man shifted unnaturally in his sleep. If he dreamt tonight, he
    was sure that no one would have understood the dream.
    Ryoga had sat down, carefully trying to remove the vise-like grip
    Ukyo had on his left ankle. He rubbed his nose, and made sure that there
    wasn't any blood spilled from that jolt. If he lost any more blood, he'd
    probably be in shock for at least a week. So he just closed his eyes and
    promised not to take advantage of the precarious situation made by Ukyo,
    the light, and the not-so-absence of clothing in several places of Ukyo's
    body.
    He concentrated. He returned to the training he once had done for
    the Breaking Point Technique. He sifted through his memory for some
    "inner self" katas, and promptly got lost.
    He found, instead, some memories of Akane. Her smile, her graceful
    form, her aura of compassion. He saw her sitting down to his left.
    "Ryoga," she said.
    "Akane," he murmured, keeping hard to his focus, his Atman, his
    soul, his inner child... he was lost again.
    She took his left hand in hers, and he tried not to flinch.
    "Don't," she said. "Just don't." She patted his hand with hers.
    He almost went completely out of his mind, when he heard a tongue
    clicking. He turned his head to see Nabiki. "My sister AND me? You
    know how that would make her feel..."
    He thought about it. He didn't.
    Nabiki made a theatrical hand-to-chest movement, accentuating her
    traditional tea-ceremony sitting position. She looked like a perfect
    lady. "You men are all alike." She gave him a deceptively meek
    expression. "Do you know how that makes me feel?"
    No, he didn't. But he didn't need to say that, did he?
    "I know what you make me feel." That one wasn't from Nabiki
    though. It was from the Ukyo sitting in front of him, wearing her hair
    askew, enrobed in her blanket. She gave a sleepy expression, and ran a
    hand self-consciously through her brown tresses. She actually smiled, a
    small simple smile.
    He blushed uncontrollably, but forced his position. His brow
    furrowed deeply, and he tried to confront this specter, amongst the
    others. "What am I doing here? Why... why...?" His forefingers met,
    and they pushed against each other in an pseudo-isometric exercise,
    making rusty squeaking noises. "I... I mean...?"
    Ukyo, who wasn't quite awake, but was quite disheveled (what were
    they doing on the floor?), just wondered what was wrong with Ryoga. But,
    after clearing her head a bit, she recognized the nervous bit. "Yes?"
    she asked, after arranging her position to edge towards the traveling
    artist.
    Ryoga, not quite aware that he was out of his trance, forged ahead.
    "Why am I here? In your bedroom? Did..." He faltered for a moment,
    assessing the impact of his statement. "Did we DO something last night?"
    It took Ukyo a few moments to digest the actual gist of the
    question. She giggled a bit after that. Then, she giggled some more.
    She stopped just before a snicker. "No, we did NOT do something," she
    lightly replied. "I'm not that kind of girl, silly."
    Ryoga was starting to wonder where this was leading up to. "What
    am I doing here with you? The last thing I remember seeing, before the
    bedroom, was Nabiki, and..."
    "Nabiki," Ukyo echoed.
    "... we came to have lunch coming from the bank," he finished. He
    paused. "Don't... don't tell me that... that I..."
    Ukyo started to wonder why Ryoga was caught nonplussed at all.
    "No, you didn't walk in on me. I took you in after she..."
    "... kissed me." He was surprised to have remembered at all.
    He... he sort of wanted to remember. He couldn't. But... he remembered
    a tree. Being up in a tree. And Ukyo was there.
    "Yes," she said, and felt silent, sullen.
    The hand on his ankle went cold, and Ryoga had no idea why. Ukyo
    wanted to kill the silence, but kept the tone neutral. "You passed out.
    I... I wanted to take care of you...."
    The Freudian slip went flying past Ryoga's keen sensibilities. He
    kept trying to remember details of his dream, in an effort to clear his
    latest set of confusions. It really didn't matter that he kept on mixing
    in elements from yesterday's bizarre events; they completely coincided
    with each other's facts, overall. Besides, he was used to confusing
    situations.
    Ukyo simply couldn't believe the change in heart Ryoga had. One
    moment, there was a certain passion (towards her, she had thought, but
    she rectified her opinion), but now he was... cold. Dissociated. She
    wanted, badly, to know. But, also, she realized as a shiver shook her
    slightly, that she needed...
    Ryoga hugged her, hard. She almost wasn't able to breathe, but
    then he changed his grip to a lighter one. He held her, his arms meeting
    in the middle of her back, under her own arms. She had held on to him
    involuntarily when he had hugged her, and felt the way his shoulders were
    nudging her arms. She closed her arms tighter, and closed her eyes,
    smiling.
    The wearied wanderer noticed the change in external body
    temperature. Namely, the cold hand left his ankle, and a hot, ragged,
    stream of wind beating somewhere on the junction of his neck and his
    body. This, at last, withdrew him from his trance.
    He was holding his arms loosely around someone's back. This
    someone was likewise wrapped around him. He knew without wondering that
    it was Ukyo, and was glad, because he was a friend, and she needed a hug.
    When she had hugged him tighter, and had virtually jumped into his arms,
    which, because he was sitting, caused them to lean backwards, he felt a
    kind of bounciness he had only dreamt of. He was unconscious before he
    hit the floor.
    Ukyo just whispered into his ear, "I love you."
    Kasumi entered her room quietly, and faced away from the door to
    close it. She let out a low sigh, and wondered how her mother would have
    dealt with this situation. She sent out a prayer to her mother, thanking
    her for keeping watch over all of them.
    She turned on the light, knowing full well that she would never get
    any sleep in the hour she had before she was scheduled to wake up. She
    had to get her mind off of... things. But everywhere she turned, there
    was some sort of distress. If you can save the world by helping each and
    every one...
    She went over to her bed, and found the book she had borrowed from
    Dr. Tofu. She could read that. She opened the book up to the page for
    the 18th of April, and perused that the best gift was an herb called
    Demon's Kiss. Never on a Sunday, she thought, as she listed it down,
    recalling that she had a few friends who have their birthdays on that
    date.
    As she turned to the next page, her marker fell open on the ground.
    As she turned to pick it up, she had noticed faintly the clean scribbles
    of the chiropractor's handwriting. It was so faint, that she hadn't
    noticed it before. She probably wouldn't have bothered with it, and
    would have returned it without incident later today, but that's not how
    these things were to work out; she had read the first line.
    She picked the letter up, absent-mindedly closed the book, sat, and
    read.
    And read.
    


	11. Herbs and Spices: Ninth Inning and Outin...


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 09 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny thanks to whoever saw this.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Day 2
    Ninth Inning and Outing
    Ki is an unusual thing.
    During the earlier years of the sciences, they had thought that
    heat was a type of matter, flowing from body to body as a liquid would as
    it is poured from a container into another. Enlightenment had started
    when they had begun to realize that heat was a manifestation of entropy
    in matter.
    Latter-day developments in this field of physics are already of the
    notion of the ultimate unification of all the forms of energy; that all
    forms of energy in nature are different shades of the same basic
    material, present in all forms.
    In this sense, maybe ki is a form of energy.
    Ki also has a tendency to be attacked by more down-to-earth forces,
    like gravity, and inertia. The Earth, not only being a large
    electromagnet, is also a large ki-magnet, but the chi (as compared to
    your normal person's ki) that the Earth keeps in its reservoir is mostly
    on its surface, and is sedentary, much like a large lake. Instead of
    being completely static, the chi of the Earth follows a current, much
    like the clouds in the sky, due to planet's rotation on its axis.
    In today's modern day and age, man is going speeds increasing,
    keeping with a brisk pace that society sets for it. This means that a
    larger amount of stress can be caused by going against the currents set
    by terrestrial chi.
    Following the path that Ranma and company took from Nerima, in
    Tokyo, to Mount Fuji, their route takes them from east to west, which
    goes in the same direction as the rotation of the earth. This rotation
    causes the clouds to run from west to east, as would the chi-currents.
    Thus, the ki of the high-powered martial artists would, effectively, be
    immersed in a stream of counter-flowing chi.
    Needless to say, blowing into the wind would just get spit into
    your face.
    "... princess... no... no coffee, please... cooking... hmmm,"
    Shampoo murmured into her forearm in Chinese. "... gotta... keep...
    awake," she continued, as a pot began to boil nearby. "... might cause a
    fire...." She dozed off, turning over, and accidentally hit the knob for
    the stove, shutting off the burner. Her mouth opened to different widths
    regularly, softly.
    "... Daddy. I love you, Daddy."
    Ukyo saw her father look over her from their embrace. He pulled
    away, still within her arms' width, to say, "so, what has my tiger been
    doing today?"
    He looked a lot larger than she could remember... almost as huge
    and imposing as he was when she was still an apprentice chef, back when
    she was six. She could swear that she was wearing that yellow headband
    she used to wear... but, no. It was just matted hair, on a sweaty brow.
    She looked up into her father's confident but amused gaze, "I've
    been training for the time I'd meet Ranma." She didn't wonder why she
    was using that caring tone she had whenever she mentioned his name, just
    at the sad note which she carried it with. She felt the tears in her
    eyes. "Tell me again, Daddy. Why he left me."
    "I didn't leave you, Ucchan." Ranma kept the warmth in his arms in
    his eyes. "I never would."
    "But... Ranma." She cut off what she would say as she lay her head
    on his chest, his manly chest, and stopped.
    "What?" Ranma had a questioning glance.
    "Ranma... I... I... don't think you love me." She wouldn't afford
    to return the caring link he extended, afraid.
    "Why? I... I love you." His hesitation was bridged by a painful
    gap.
    "As a friend," she supplied. "Nothing more."
    "Isn't that what matters?" he said, his innocent tone beckoning
    her to open up, to care.
    "No, it's not." She looked into his eyes, then. Ryoga's eyes.
    "But, what could there be between us? You have Ranma, I have
    Akane."
    "But I don't, and you don't. They have each other." She kept her
    chest coming closer to Ryoga's. She let a shuddering sigh out.
    "You want substitutes. For you and me." Ryoga didn't sound hurt,
    just curious. "A happy ending."
    "NO," she intoned. "Well, yes, a happy ending. But... Ryoga..."
    "I can't believe that you're giving up on him. That you'd want me
    to give up on Akane. Or Nabiki." Ryoga's voice had a chastising, sharp
    tone, beneath its lack of volume.
    She shook a bit, when he mentioned Nabiki. "I... I haven't." She
    was a bit surprised with her own answer. She couldn't loosen her grip on
    him. She spoke into his chest. "It was just... just that when you...
    and Nabiki... came in yesterday. She... she wanted to... take you away
    from me." She ended that statement awkwardly.
    She felt her face moisten. A hand lifted from her back, and
    pectorals stretched obliquely. She looked up to see Ryoga offer her a
    bandanna. She took her own hand from his back, and graciously accepted
    it.
    She was able to put in, "I-," *sob*, "I... didn't know what to do.
    I did," *sob*, "what came," *sob*, "to me first.... I really didn't,"
    *sob*, "think about it..." She gave herself a good half-minute to clear
    her sinuses. Ryoga sort of let his left arm drape across the small of
    her back, his hand brushing her left waist, while his right arm held her
    shoulders reassuringly.
    "I... I guess I didn't want her to. To get you. From me. I- It
    felt right for a while, and it was so silly," she was smiling to herself,
    "because I, I wanted you to care for me, too." Under her breath, she
    added, "I thought you did, too."
    Ryoga lay, calm-as-you-please, where he was. Where he was under
    Ukyo, on the floor. He was amazed. He was touched, but he felt... at
    peace. Shock, he thought.
    "Ukyo," he began, having only entered the conversation during the
    time Ukyo had mentioned Nabiki, "I... I care for you."
    "Don't give me that crap," her voice became savage, "not as a
    friend, dammit. I wouldn't have bothered as much as I have if I wanted
    to make a friend, Ryoga." She said nothing, her heart beating as much as
    it was doing.
    Ryoga couldn't really say much. He wanted to be completely honest;
    a strange thing, since he couldn't be completely honest with Akane. But
    he really didn't know what to say. All he knew was that when he saw the
    tears roll down her cheek was that he wanted to hold her tight and make
    the tears disappear. Nothing you would call love immediately. But what
    was? Gazing into the eyes of someone who kissed you, but thought you
    were a pig?
    He held her still form closely, tucked his head, keeping his face
    in her hair, and rocked them side to side.
    Kasumi closed the letter neatly, by twice folding it, then firmly
    enforcing the crease onto the paper. She put it on top of the book,
    which already rested near the potted plant near the head of her bed. She
    slipped silently into bed, and lay into it, thinking. She had forgotten
    that dawn was to break in half an hour.
    Genma woke, bursting his bubble with an audible *pop*. He had had
    a wonderfully unremarkable night's sleep; he had half-expected to dream
    of his estranged wife, and half-expected to have a nightmare involving
    her katana.
    He blinked in the spring early morning, aware that the days were
    starting to grow longer and that the purples of dawn were coming out
    earlier. Since it was still too dark to play a decent game of go, he
    returned to sleep.
    Shampoo came to almost immediately. Luckily, the stew had not
    cooled to the point where the effects of the cooking would have been
    nullified. She went to wash her hands, and douse herself with a
    negligible amount of cold water. It wouldn't do well to shrink in her
    skin now, as she took a bowl of the potion concocted, and went on a
    bicycle to find the terrible transvestite.
    Akane woke up, quite refreshed, despite having woken up two hours
    earlier. Talking to Kasumi had helped, but not by too much. It was just
    the smell of the dew of dawn which held her breathing in and out and
    lying on her bed for the next ten minutes.
    Soon, the odor of cooking oil on a shallow pan wafted through the
    air, cutting through the communion nature had with her. The hues held a
    parade, and it was well into orange when she sat to stretch the kinks out
    of her system.
    She chose not to have her bath yet, and opened her closet to find a
    change of clothes appropriate to her light mood. She arbitrarily opened
    drawers, hoping that the clothing would catch her attention, instead of
    her having to look for it.
    The middle drawer opened to an appropriate pair of a yellow tank-
    top and a set of short denim shorts. She immediately closed the drawer,
    unaware of the origin of a cold draft that entered her room.
    She settled for a short-sleeved dress, which was frilly and satiny.
    It felt cool to the skin, and for a moment, she felt irretrievably calm.
    She wondered if she had ever worn this when Ranma was around, because the
    calm which she felt mixed with the warmth she felt just by thinking of
    him, of him, in those brief moments of want, gave her a heady,
    intoxicating sensation. She sat on the floor, her knees giving ever so
    slightly, and she laid her hands on her lap, one atop the other.
    She yawned, bringing her thoughts into perspective. She stood,
    giving the room a once-over, then closed the door, bare feet on the
    hallway wood.
    Nodoka woke up, finally satisfied that time had come. The day
    looked good, and the sun didn't glare into her eyes as much as shine.
    She had a good feeling that today, she would at last meet her husband,
    and her son. She was sure of it. She wore her smile with her through
    cooking her breakfast, and she actually was able to sing a lullaby she
    had forgotten. The tune wasn't obvious at first, but as she came to the
    refrain, she had enough to go on the rest of the song.
    "There's a candle, shining true,
    in the window, just for you.
    Red and yellow, blue and gold,
    always hot against the cold.
    Mother's waiting; she's inside,
    nowhere can there shadows hide.
    Keep you safe, and keep you warm,
    sleeping sound on Mother's arm."
    After leaving the eggs in the frying pan, she started fishing for
    some fresh milk, which she set on the table along with the plate and
    stainless steel utensil. She forgot the glass.
    "She'll never forget that smile you had.
    She'll never forget you say 'I love you.'
    She'll never forget that smile you had.
    She'll never forget you say 'I love you.'"
    She had nearly forgotten that she was singing, as she got some rice
    from the cooker. She put this on the plate, as she poured some milk into
    her glass.
    "There's a candle, shining true,
    in the window, just for you.
    Almost gone, it's flickering,
    rain outside pit-pattering.
    Mother's waiting; she's inside,
    looking where the shadows hide.
    Are you safe? Who keeps you warm?
    Mother wishes you no harm."
    The healthy crackling of her scrambled eggs told her that three
    minutes had already elapsed. She took the pan in one hand, and closed
    the burner with the other. Making sure that none of the oil went in the
    plate, she extracted her serving.
    "She'll never forget that smile you had.
    She'll never forget you say 'I love you.'
    She'll never forget you left with Dad.
    She'll never forget you say 'I love you.'"
    Somehow, when she ate her breakfast, her spirits dwindled, but kept
    high.
    The man slammed the door, not bothering to switch on the lights.
    It was a long day, and he was desperate for a bath. If only he could
    afford to get a place with a bath. If only he could afford to get a
    place with one; he might have to get his bath tomorrow, after he woke
    up. If he'd remember to do so.
    He tried to conjure the strength to wonder if all that he's done
    was right, but he felt he really didn't have that much of a choice. Free
    will, in his case, was simply to keep ignorant of the world, and the
    world ignorant of him. He still had a hundred destinies to fulfill, most
    important of which has his own.
    He fell asleep as his body hit the bed.
    Tsubasa rolled in the trash. His nap would not have ended, had he
    not rolled over to stuff his nose into a smelly old boot.
    "Hrrr-pbht!" He was about three seconds too late to stop olfactory
    contact. He was reeling for the next three minutes, until a cold gust of
    wind sent him shivers in the alley.
    He took a good look at his undershirt, and the light blue boxers,
    with little ducks and "Quack"s on it. "Ugh," he said, with a little
    blush.
    Finding some suitable attire (rearranging to find a relatively
    odorless, dry and clean cardboard box), the master of disguise could
    barely make out sounds coming from the top of the building to his left.
    Not knowing better, he jumped into the middle of a drama.
    Kuno woke up. He blinked. Ahhh... the summer wind. He had missed
    it so much.
    He left his quarters, donning a dark-toned kimono, and left to
    practice swipes at assorted dummies.
    Cologne fully opened her eyes, as she had only been half-asleep.
    The peak of Japan's most revered volcano was fast growing before her, but
    it was not as large as she had needed it to be. She continued her
    meditation, summoning the reserves of ki she would need.
    Traveling as they had, they were, quite effectively running counter
    to the normal path of the Earth's own chi. It would not suit them to
    exert at all, as they would no doubt have to readjust their orientation
    before they would reduce their velocity.
    She rested, keeping her eyes on the sleeping forms.
    Akane entered to kitchen, hoping to catch a few quick cooking tips
    (or maybe even to try a recipe). "Good morning, Kasu..."
    She trailed off at the sight that greeted her after turning the
    corner. Across from the table in the center of the room, a figure was
    audibly chopping on a board, near the sink. The table itself had
    foodstuffs organized into piles of vegetables, cooking additives (along
    with cooking oil, baking soda, flour, and some soba noodles), and
    seasonings. Some cooking oil was already in the process of being heated,
    and a small cloud was starting to come from it.
    Nabiki turned from her cutting. "Where'd you put the eggs, Kasumi?
    They're not in the..." She noticed the expression Akane was wearing.
    "...'fridge."
    "We're all out of eggs, Nabiki. Kasumi said that they were all out
    when she bought the groceries yesterday."
    "Oh" was all her older sister said.
    Nabiki was tempted to wipe the sweat from her brow, but just
    wrinkled it. She reached out for a towellette from the roll under a
    shelf, and dabbed at her brow with that. She wiped off some oil from her
    fingers on the side of the apron, taking care not to touch the jumper
    underneath.
    "So," Akane started.
    "... what am I cooking?" Nabiki chuckled under her breath. Maybe
    she could just talk her way past her little sister. "Breakfast."
    "All this," her baby sister said, indicating the preparations on
    the table, "just for the three of us?"
    "Well, I was thinking of making us brunch, really."
    "Where is Kasumi, anyway? Isn't she awake yet? Is she sick?"
    Akane knew that her eldest sister was always awake before anyone else,
    making breakfast before waking the rest of the family. Her lilting,
    worried tone carried that.
    Nabiki shook her head. Such a creature of status quo... afraid of
    change. Actually, both she and her beloved husband-to-be were such
    beasts. That's probably been a reason why they've been so slow in
    their... proper consummation. She gave such a smirk at the thought of
    her meek and clumsy sister... well, when she's not given to temper, that
    is.
    "No, she just overslept, I think."
    Akane focussed her guilty-party staring at her toes. It clearly
    indicated that she had an inkling as to why their eldest sibling was
    still asleep. This, Nabiki thought, was a better thought, than that.
    "Don't worry. I'll check up on her later," Nabiki offered.
    Her blue-haired sister just nodded, and excused herself. "If you
    need to get Dr. Tofu..."
    "... I'll call you." Nabiki was glad she wasn't even going to try
    to help in the kitchen.
    "... um... Nabiki... would you need help...?" Akane was partway
    out the door.
    Nabiki kept her sigh. "No, I'll be fine. Maybe you should check
    on big sis."
    Akane sighed. "Oh, okay." She closed the door behind her softly.
    Nabiki let out a breath, then remembered the pan. As she toned
    down the burner, she looked at her mother's cookbook again. She looked
    at the recipe for "Homemade Okonomiyaki", and found no way of making do
    without the eggs. Dismissing her own particular needs, she leafed
    around, trying to find something she could even try to cook for her
    family.
    Tsubasa had almost gotten up the wall, when he heard the breaking
    of a bowl. He had caught a ladle that jumped from shingle to shingle
    onto his noggin. It smelled of something else, really. He let go of it,
    like the wet, dirty old sock it reminded him of.
    "You witch! What did you just feed me?" an enraged male voice had
    shouted.
    "S-Stupid!" said the voice that made his heart stop. "You leave
    now!"
    "Damned right! I can't believe that I stayed as long as I have
    with you! Go to your stupid Prince Charming, and have your happy
    ending!"
    Tsubasa was able to clamber up faster, catching a glimpse of a
    long-haired young man in a white tunic turn away from the love of his
    life. She, on the other hand, looked like she had a frog in her throat.
    The pent-up look, and her barely restrained emotion, in his honest
    opinion, made her seem all the more animated, more desirable. She had an
    almost teary-eyed expression. "Leave! Shampoo no care!" She turned on
    her heel.
    Mousse had simply wanted to be very, very far away from Shampoo.
    Except that he still had to get his meager belongings, which were in the
    cellar. Her cellar.
    He angrily took the frilly pink dress tatters that stuck to him,
    and threw them in the carton which he saw on the roof. He then bodily
    tossed the cardboard package into the open trash bin floors below. He
    made a show of clapping his hands to clean them, crossed the top of the
    Cat Cafe, then jumped down to the front of the restaurant, which was the
    fastest way to the cellar, in his opinion.
    Too bad that he hadn't seen a truck coming across, which he got
    onto and away.
    Tsubasa wondered, as consciousness fled him, if this was one of
    those days when waking up just wasn't worth it.
    Kodachi, otherwise unnoticed on the roof, did not care much. She
    was still fast asleep, and now quite alone.
    "Son-in-law," Cologne arced the end of her staff at Ranma.
    "Wh-" The staff hit. "What? What you do that for?"
    She indicated the foremost object in their periphery.
    "We're here."
    


	12. Herbs and Spices: Ten to One Against


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 10 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny thanks to whoever saw this.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Day 2
    Ten to One Against
    Dr. Tofu went out.
    "Hello," said Nerima.
    "Hello," replied Dr. Tofu. "Raining any time today?"
    "Nope," Nerima said. Then she winked in a coy manner.
    "Just any time I'm not expecting." He sighed. He stretched. He
    yawned. "I'm doing some exercises. Goodbye."
    "Goodbye," said Nerima.
    Shampoo slammed the door behind her. She thought again, then
    opened it, just to slam it harder.
    Without her prior notice, the door locked itself shut.
    Gosunkugi dressed up in something normal that day. Lugging three
    tomes, he hefted his load and trudged a path to the library.
    Mousse wondered what was happening. All of a sudden, he was caught
    underfoot by a very solid gust of wind.
    Underfoot?
    He regained his balance, then very carefully stepped off the truck,
    which was turning at that point.
    Mr. Turtle slept soundly, chewing on scraps of dark-hued cloth.
    Letting her own concern wash away her shyness, Akane slowly opened
    the door at the end of the hall. She pulled it back slowly, and only up
    to the point where she could squeeze herself through. She pulled it
    inward, checking if she had woken her eldest sibling.
    Kasumi breathed in and out in deep slow breaths.
    Akane tiptoed over the carpeted flooring.
    Okay. Now what?
    She held the basin with one hand, and set it on the low table,
    pushing the book to one side. Thoughtful older sister Kasumi, she mused.
    She considered where she could sit. The floor was a bit too low,
    and the table looked rickety enough with the potted plant on it. She
    leaned slowly unto Kasumi's bed, just beside the pillow.
    She turned to the long hair that her sister had. It was strewn in
    a haphazard manner, so much unlike how it behaved when it was tied up in
    a ponytail, along her shoulder. She remembered her own long tresses, and
    how much she had to sacrifice, to find love. She ran her fingers through
    it, relishing the soft feel of it.
    Remembering the cloth, she took the face towel, and wrung it, to
    return it to moist from soggy.
    "Mother...?"
    She stiffened.
    "Mother...?" Kasumi asked again. "Is it time for the cooking
    lessons yet...?"
    "No," Akane said softly. "Not yet."
    "Oh," she mumbled, feigning a return to sleep.
    They both smiled.
    Kodachi rolled, somehow not noticing that she was sleeping on
    shingles. None the matter; the sun was now starting to be unbearable,
    and the roofs were starting to emanate hot soup.
    Not that any of the martial artists would notice.
    An excerpt from the alleged black book of Nabiki Tendo, as
    described by several acquaintances:
    Ranma beaten in a fight by a guy - 10 to 1.
    Ranma beaten in second fight with a guy - 25 to 1.
    Akane courted by guy Ranma will fight/is fighting - 4 to 1.
    Ranma courted by guy Ranma will fight/is fighting - 3 to 1.
    Ranma bopped by Akane during the fight - 4 to 1.
    Dr. Tofu courting Kasumi (before Ranma graduates) - 20 to 1.
    Shampoo uses door - 15 to 1.
    New fiancée for Ranma showing up (daily) - 6 to 1.
    The above being Genma's fault - 3 to 2.
    Ryoga on time for anything - 12 to 1.
    Kodachi giving non-poisoned food - 16 to 1.
    Ranma and Akane getting married before graduation - 25 to 1.
    Rain in Nerima - 5 to 1.
    Any Kuno figuring out what's going on - 30 to 1.
    Happosai says "no" to panties - 35 to 1.
    Genma says "no" to free food - 35 to 1.
    It is also likely that the alleged black book is just a figment of
    some overactive imagination. Since Nabiki doesn't have a black book, one
    is more inclined to think so; she makes the odds as she sees'em.
    The katana lay, still in its ricepaper sheath, the ancestral sword
    of the Saotome clan. The bloodless blade shone in the darkness,
    unassisted by the light. Silent, yet swift and sharp.
    Where...? Nodoka didn't want to leave the greatest treasure of the
    Saotome clan, easy to plunder, wrath of the ancients... oh, what's the
    use. She stood up, after looking under the table. If the testy little
    thing doesn't want to be found, I'll have to wait my sweet time, won't I?
    She thought to leave at that point, but something held her back.
    She sighed. I suppose I'll have to look for it... She went back
    in, renewing her search. The blade glinted brightly, as though amused.
    Nabiki didn't feel like patting herself, but she had to admit that
    she did a good job.
    "... good job, Nabiki!"
    "Really?" She wanted to know if this was really a good thing.
    "Really, honey." The smile was enough to assure her.
    She smiled for a moment, then realized that the voices were merely
    in her head. The smile stayed, but became more lopsided. She set the
    plates on the table, and went up to call her siblings to eat.
    Because it isn't good to have so much angst in the morning, we cut
    to the following segment:
    Kuno hunted around for people in the mansion.
    His sister, who had been missing for the past ten hours, was not
    able to make a presence.
    Sasuke, who had last been heard to scream and shout and holler, all
    the while feeding Mr. Turtle, was not able to make a presence either.
    Principal Kuno, who was still in Hawaii, was still not there. Not
    as though "Tachi" wanted to find him there.
    The rest of the household, figuring that Mr. Turtle needed yet
    another meal, with neither the mistress nor the pygmy ninja to feed him,
    did not want to get "volunteered" into the job. They did not want to be
    found.
    "Would it be that I, Tatewaki Kuno, might find myself bereft of
    company on this fine summer's day?" He sat Rodin-esque, then: "'tis a
    sign! I must call upon the favors of the calisthenic epitome, Akane
    Tendo and the pig-tailed goddess whose name I am not worthy to remember!"
    Of course, Kuno would have used any excuse to find his two great
    loves-him-not. Apparently, he was better prepared now, as he pulled out
    two bouquets of roses out-of-nowhere [1]. He ran.
    A few minutes later, he shouted, "Augh!" Apparently, the only ones
    who really knew about the traps in the house were his sister and their
    dwarfed ninja.
    Incidentally, Mr. Turtle was freely roaming the house, scrounging
    up for scraps. Apparently, he was hungry, and there was someone to feed
    him in the house: he heard the "Augh!" and followed from there.
    [1] Out-of-nowhere is a term that is being phased out. Though some
    might assume that this phasing out is due to political incorrectness, as
    out-of-nowhere has no counterpart out-of-somewhere or, better yet, in-to-
    nowhere, biasing itself against the absence of location, this is actually
    due to the introduction of the trendier phrases "out of thin air", "out
    of Hammerspace(TM)" or "out of that space where all those things they get
    out in a surprising and unexplained manner come from."
    Nabiki was about to knock on Kasumi's door when Akane popped out,
    almost causing collision. "Breakfast is ready," she said flatly.
    "Be with you in a minute," Akane said, rushing past, down the
    stairs.
    "Nabiki?" Kasumi, on the other hand stayed in the bed.
    This, in fact, bothered her. A lot of things were bothering her
    all of a sudden. She pushed her way in.
    Kasumi had a damp cloth over her forehead, which she explained by
    way of gesturing towards the absent Tendo sister. Nabiki crossed her
    arms in front of her, then leaned into the bed on them. "Good morning."
    The eldest Tendo girl considered the ceiling for a while. She
    weighed her options carefully, then released a long sigh.
    "What... what do you think of Dr. Tofu?"
    Kodachi rolled in her sleep.
    Gosunkugi walked down the street.
    Despite whatever interesting things have happened to almost
    everybody in Nerima, nothing ever happened to him. He wouldn't have
    minded getting almost run down by a certain bouncy Amazon on a bike, or
    maybe by an alternately cute/sexy teacher waving five-yen coins in the
    air, or a shorthaired dream-girl. Maybe even a leotard-clad... nope, not
    that desperate.
    That only thing that ever happens to him is... rain.
    Of course, at the intersection, he wasn't expecting the rain to be
    blind Amazon. He wasn't even the bouncy type.
    Shampoo was at a loss. Did she anger some goddess of luck?
    Heavens know their whole gang have already tripped up all sorts of gods
    and goddesses, demons and some such. In the span of twelve hours, two
    simple potions have backfired on her.
    Why do these things always happen to me?
    There is a fine line between superstition and religion; a religion
    differs itself by a set of written agreements and a name to itself. In
    fact, two people who belong to different religions would, at best, treat
    each other to have oblique superstitions. (At worst... can you say
    jihad?)
    It is not a wonder that most religions abhor superstitions. (Or is
    it that most pious seem zealous to extent of superstition?)
    Unfortunately, there is a matter of propagation of the faith. A
    superstition may rarely have changes that would affect the spirit of the
    word, it is actually more likely that one scheming to abuse a religion
    would so blatantly focus on the word. After all, would one suspect the
    keeper of the word to go against it?
    In any case, superstitions tend to regard the world as a
    irredeemable cesspool of malicious spirits who will trip you up if you
    break a "rule"; religions would present a way out of it.
    Also, luck would unanimously be shoveled into the bin of
    superstition. After all, who but gamblers would believe that the gods
    would have anything to do with which space on a segmented wheel a metal
    ball will land on? "God does not play dice with the universe."
    There is a fine line between superstition and philosophy, but this
    is not due to probability.
    Kodachi rolled in her sleep. Then she scratched her nose.
    "Well..." Nabiki drawled. It was about time her sister opened up.
    She considered. "I... well, he's okay... for an older guy."
    Kasumi's mouth twisted minutely, as though she wanted to retort.
    Out of character? Nabiki was sleepier than she thought. "Well, what do
    you think of Dr. Tofu?"
    Not that it wasn't like her to reiterate a point, it was just that
    Kasumi did it for very, very obvious reasons: she had seen the technique
    used on their two younger housemates. Unusually enough, this one was
    confusing her. Did Kasumi want to know what she thought because she
    wanted to... compare? Re-evaluate? Contrast? Challenge?
    Two can play at that game... whatever it is.
    "Actually... he's kind of cute."
    They stared into each other's eyes for a moment. The tension was
    suspended when Kasumi choked off a gulp.
    Kasumi couldn't believe her ears. It would have been difficult if
    she hadn't had anything on him, but now...
    "Oh..." was all she said.
    Nobody's seen the back of Dr. Tofu's clinic, in recent memory.
    Nobody's seen Dr. Tofu practice martial arts, either. One could
    also infer that the two event spaces overlap.
    One could have been correct, but not quite. For example, Nodoka
    had seen, a day before, that Dr. Tofu was a martial artist, by his
    extraordinary walking abilities.
    Of course, in physical training, it is important to clear one's
    mind. The body, in order to harmonize with the mind, must come into a
    reset with it. Hence, meditation.
    A scheme was to imagine a furnace, to burn everything in your
    foremind, and to see it consumed, leaving a huge void. It is much harder
    than it seems, pink elephants or otherwise.
    To be a doctor, one would always have a presence of mind. The
    emergency, as it presents itself, should always be found, as would a
    solution.
    In short, to become a martial artist, one must stop being the
    doctor.
    Tofu, now known as Dr. Tofu, has always found this fascinating.
    Acupressure and acupuncture have been accepted healing crafts in
    the Orient for decades past, now. Yet, the basic knowledge of these
    fields have led to several of the techniques specialized in the martial
    arts. Indeed, the study of ki and its effects on the human body are well
    within the bounds of study of either.
    And, yet, these fields, like all medical fields, can be perverted
    and used against the human body. These, too, fall well within the fields
    of each other.
    Thus, the murderer distinguishes himself from the doctor in terms
    of medical jurisprudence, and, in that case, in terms of motive. As with
    the martial artist and the practitioner.
    In any case, Dr. Tofu was then the martial artist. In fact, he was
    doing one-armed push-ups on his right. With his eyes closed.
    Actually, it was a process that he started just lately. Pavlovian
    conditioning and all. After all, everything can be achieved by the power
    of the human spirit, right?
    Premise: whenever Kasumi is around while Dr. Tofu is "being the
    doctor", everything goes haywire.
    Premise: Tofu the doctor and Tofu the martial artist are two
    separate states of mind.
    Assumption: whatever makes Dr. Tofu go haywire while Kasumi is
    around, it is because he is "being the doctor".
    Hypothesis: Tofu, the martial artist, with his superior discipline
    and concentration and void, will not go haywire at even the mention of
    Kasumi.
    Experimentation.
    Right now, Tofu was concentrating on the martial arts heritage his
    father had passed down unto him. His breathing was in sync with the
    flexing and stretching in his right arm; he was his right arm. It was
    unusually quiet, but he took it all in. The mildew, the chirping birds,
    the all-ness and none-ness... he opened his eyes.
    There was Kasumi. At least, a reproduction of one of her most
    striking moments.
    In moments, Dr. Tofu's clinic suddenly had a back gate.
    Kodachi rolled in her sleep. Faster.
    Kasumi did say that she was going to have a chat with Nabiki, and
    that I could jog around for about ten minutes. Akane quickly took off
    the dress she had on (carefully putting it aside; she was planning to
    wear it today, after all), and put on a pair of shorts and... hmm...
    maybe not. She discarded the shorts and sleeveless shirt, and donned a
    gi, instead.
    Having done that, she rushed downstairs (tossing a quick "be a
    while" to her siblings as she passed by Kasumi's room), and outside.
    Ryoga took slow moments moving: quite a few, just to set Ukyo on
    the floor, making sure to place the blanket between her and the carpet;
    another few to gently reach her hands, which were possessively caressing
    the small of his back; yet a few more to untangle their legs.
    Sweet, sweet Ukyo. She seemed to have lost her ribbon. In a
    moment, he was cupping her hair in one hand and tying it loosely with one
    of his own bandannas.
    He was slightly over her body, and he sat up. He took another look
    at her. Yellow doesn't go well with blue, he concluded, and unbound her
    hair. The bandanna lay limply in his hand.
    She looked much better with her hair free.
    What had Ranma done to you, then? Nothing in the past days...
    well, past weeks, last he saw her... could have led to this. How dare he
    treat a woman so callously?
    Ryoga stood, ire building within him. Urrrggggghh... he started
    taking measured steps towards the door, but as soon as he opened it, he
    lost his concentration completely: CURSE YOU, RANMA! He sped through
    the opening, leaving the door ajar in his wake.
    Akane has had these jogging trips before, of course. Almost every
    day, actually. Ever since Ranma came, Akane hasn't been very sure about
    her own skills (not that she'd say anything on that count, that is).
    Apparently, those boys at Furinkan were good for something.
    Oh... hogwash! Akane pushed away the idea. She didn't want the
    old days back. And she wasn't that off... although, it did feel kind of
    sore in places. Maybe she should ask Nabiki about that yogaerobics thing
    she was trying. And breakfast! More than enough reason to start
    stepping up the pace.
    She rushes... she fakes... she turns... she trips... ouphe.
    Akane picked herself up from the pile she made with Mousse and,
    after some searching, Gosunkugi. Grahh. Both knocked out. They got
    into a fight... and Gosunkugi didn't get clobbered? Boys. #~_~ And I
    thought this insanity was Ranma's turf only.
    Better get them to Doctor... Tofu's? Ungh. Mousse is heavier than
    he looks. Well, Akane, she chided herself, what would you expect of a
    hidden weapons master? Rggggh. I need a hand...
    Serendipity and all, Dr. Tofu happened to pass by that self-same
    intersection at that self-same time.
    Kodachi rolled in her sleep. And fell. Into the bottom of the
    alley.
    Oh, yeah. Tsubasa rolled in his sleep, also.
    Kasumi was getting out of bed as Nabiki returned. Immediately, the
    younger shushed the elder, saying, "now, now. Can't you try to relax
    once in a while?"
    Both of them had in mind to humor the other. "Oh, all right. But
    I will have to return that downstairs."
    "Tut, tut. I am not having any of that." As soon as Kasumi was in
    a sitting position at the head of the bed, Nabiki placed the tray she
    brought across the long-haired woman's lap.
    Kasumi looked at the bowl of miso, and gave Nabiki an approving
    look. Snapping off her chopsticks, she asked, "aren't you having any,
    Nabiki?"
    "Oh, don't worry, sis. I've tasted it myself." Kasumi actually
    smiled at that. "No, I'm just waiting for someone." She whispered, "now
    just where could that girl be?"
    "Oh, there you are." Nodoka reached into a corner behind the
    refrigerator. "I should have looked in there first."
    Surely enough, the ancestral sword of the Saotome clan shone
    gleefully. Though she was severely tempted to practice some kendo katas,
    she quickly sheathed the gay blade.
    Hefting it so that it slipped in between the brown obi and the
    light blue kimono she wore, she went through the last-minute checks,
    making sure that she had the keys which she would hand over to her
    neighbors... oh, the cookies. She laughed slightly at her gaffe.
    All things necessary taken care of, Nodoka set off to a hopefully
    fruitful visit to the Tendo dojo.
    As she was about to leave, the front door flung outward, and a
    harried, yet otherwise nondescript man rushed in. "Madam," he started,
    "may I interest you in the truth?"
    Tsubasa has been in rather tight spots in carton boxes.
    A carton box is, after all, a tough spot to be in in the first
    place. Being struck by mighty mighty spatulae or being body slammed
    while constricting your body to the space of such a box is not a
    pleasurable experience.
    However, it would be, to most people, a hypothetical question to be
    asked whether or not sharing such space in a carton with a person of the
    opposite sex would or would not be a pleasurable experience.
    Hopefully to present an answer, the following sample was observed:
    Tsubasa fell into the alley in the carton, knocked out.
    Kodachi fell into the carton, asleep.
    Neither woke from this.
    Tsubasa rolled, right into Kodachi's face.
    Kodachi wrapped her outstretched arms around Tsubasa.
    Tsubasa woke up, slightly jostled. Concussion possible.
    Kodachi woke up, slightly freshened.
    Kodachi kissed Tsubasa.
    Further testings should prove more precise.
    "He left."
    Ukyo said this very softly, even before she opened her eyes. The
    situation made itself evident: Ryoga probably needed to go to a
    bathroom, and *poof* gone in two shakes. Another three weeks might pass
    before he comes back. She moaned slightly.
    "Ryoga Hibiki, force of nature," she clucked sardonically, as she
    stood for her morning toilette, "powerful, unpredictable, and leaves you
    breathless afterward." She shook her head, then promised not to be so
    fatalistic. Maybe just after a bath.
    Near the bottom of the staircase, as Ukyo turned to the bath's
    outer door, she thought she heard noises from the inside. Had she not
    been too wistful, these would have registered; they hadn't. On the
    other hand, had she been a little more wistful, she might have wished for
    Ryoga to actually find the bath, just this once.
    Of course, he wasn't actually looking for it this time.
    All Ryoga knew was that he was suddenly in a bath. Unfortunately,
    it takes him even longer to get out of a bath than into it, there being
    two doors and all. Open one, and, "agh! the hot tub!" Turn around,
    open the door, "agh! the hot tub!" And so on. Fortunately, so far,
    with all that water, hot and cold, he hadn't undergone any swift changes.
    Someone. At the door.
    Oh no. Like the proverbial trapped animal, Ryoga did as instincts
    told him: panic like a headless chicken.
    Ukyo opened the door. Ryoga backed up and hoped to God there was a
    way out of this situation. What there was was a faucet.
    A cold water faucet.
    Ukyo stood mystified as Ryoga just... just dissolved before her.
    And underneath all of Ryoga's clothes was a very, very wet pig.
    


	13. Herbs and Spices: 11th Guest


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 11 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny thanks to whoever saw this.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Day 2
    11th Guest
    "Mommy?"
    Mrs. Tendo looked up from her notebook. Her little girl was coming
    up to her with a questioning glance. "Mommy, I have a little question."
    The cookbook still had about a third to go through. She closed it
    slowly, and placed the ball-point pen on the cover. While her dumpling
    shifted and pouted and looked everywhere and pulled on her skirt, she
    smiled, sweetly yet tinged with a sadness she could not place. How she
    loved her little ways, even though they were always a little different.
    A little off: she's never really come close to either parent, yet.
    Picking up her bundle of joy, she politely asked, "what does my
    little princess want to ask me?"
    The roundish face came to eyelevel with the thoughtful bright eyes.
    "Mommy, have you ever gotten married?"
    She smiled, dimples fascinating her young charge. "Of course,
    dear. Why do you ask?"
    The younger Tendo's brown furrowed, as though she was miffed by not
    having overseen the event herself. "How many guests were there?"
    What an awkward question, the thirty-odd year old housewife mused.
    Nonetheless, she answered. "Let's see. There was Uncle Saotome,
    Grandfather Hap-"
    "Was there a priest?" Her dark eyes glittered, implacable.
    "Yes. Then, there was Auntie Nodoka, though she wasn't Auntie
    Saotome yet. And-"
    A tug. "Was daddy there?"
    She stopped enumerating, and smirked. "Yes, I think daddy was
    there. He was with me."
    "Oh." She said that in that wondrously magical way that kids
    always did when they learned something new about the world. Then, she
    bowed her head, counting on her fingers. A little early for her age to
    be counting on two hands, but there she was. The pre-schooler didn't
    even notice that she had stopped.
    The girl bobbed her head upward. "He wasn't a guest?"
    She smiled, and nodded.
    The child smiled back, and continued her computations. A few more
    digit exertions, then: "how many?"
    Sparing the details, she concluded, "about twenty guests."
    At the figure, she opened both hands so that her little wizard
    would see how big twenty was. She counted off on her fingers, and turned
    them when she got past ten. When she stopped, the shorthaired little
    girl shook her head.
    "What's wrong?"
    Two little hands kept her hands from curling. A small fist, she
    put on top of the larger ones. "Priest." She uncurled the left thumb.
    "Mommy." She glanced up for acknowledgement, then uncurled her left
    pointer finger. "Daddy." The middle finger.
    With her right hand, she demonstrated closing her mother's hands.
    She opened them, one by one, but instead of counting from one, she
    started at four. At the end, there were thirteen fingers laid out.
    "No good." She pouted, having made her point.
    And indeed it was made. Such was a bond between a child and the
    mother who raised her. Thus, Mrs. Tendo promised to her, there and then,
    "okay, sugar. No more than ten guests at your wedding, dear. Mommy
    promises."
    She's never been known to be superstitious.
    But having plenty of round objects in her apartment does not
    constitute being superstitious. Truth to be told, many of these round
    things have holes in them; not much in terms of luck there.
    Hinako Ninomiya has never really had had a normal life to begin
    with, and she liked to think that luck was never a factor in it. Of
    course, if fate had not thrown into her path a kindly old man that
    changed her metabolism and aided (if not cured) her frail constitution,
    then she would not be fulfilling her lifelong dream of teaching.
    Nope, no luck there. There was determination, some willpower, lots
    of ki-suctioning, and an honest-to-goodness longing for the job.
    Neither is it luck that she had been transferred to Furinkan High,
    where, through connections, maneuvering and exhaustive research, she had
    found the man of her dreams. There was no need for luck at all.
    Where was the point in trying to wait for things to occur when you
    could make them happen yourself?
    Hinako woke up, in her polka-dotted apartment, yawning and tossing
    the self-help book she had confiscated from Gosunkugi last school period.
    "What a funny book."
    A frustrated Shampoo made her way up the stairs and, with a
    plaintive sigh that signified exactly how tired she was, she plopped down
    on her bed, fast asleep.
    The Cat Cafe (also known as the Neko Hanten) is an interesting
    treatise on cultural architecture. It meshes the aspects and flavor of
    both Japanese and Chinese nature. Considering that it is an overnight
    project, it makes a pretty well-supported statement by itself.
    (Though, notable enough is the fact that the lot that the
    restaurant stands was not empty the day before it was built. Cologne had
    well-negotiated a lease with the owner. Since the other party had owned
    the rest of that area, and the Amazons had attracted attention and
    customers to the area, this other party has had little complaint.)
    In any case, the building's design is simple and modern Japanese,
    with a second floor with wooden flooring and average-thickness walling.
    A small outdoor patio at the back, where which laundry is hung, and a
    skinny alleyway to its left side bound the building.
    The restaurant proper is tastefully Chinese in ambiance, with an
    aura of grandeur, size, volume and smoke that speak of a heritage of
    light opium, beautiful women and quality ramen. (And a notably Hong Kong
    feel to it, as the occasional fistfight quickly turns into a Jackie Chan-
    esque mess, but that's mostly due to the air of being in Nerima.)
    But appearances aren't all: arguably, the personality of any
    restaurant can be found in two places, the kitchen and the storeroom.
    The Cat Cafe kitchen is a hive of activity during the workhours,
    and a laboratory of sorts during the off-hours. It is well-known that
    some of the most potent of potions and most questionable of foodstuffs
    have been created here. (The only other places which could compete are,
    respectively, the Kuno greenhouse, and the Tendo kitchen.)
    However, the true secret lies in the storeroom, which occupies the
    half of an excavated basement. (The other half is taken up by a rather
    lush bathroom.) In a warehouse-like arrangement, crate upon crate of
    commodity and weaponry come together in a menacing and completely at-ease
    manner. Several odd herbs by the bushel, a toxic fluid by the gallon,
    swords by the bunch... and at the center of which (which could be no more
    than just a tiny space in between the crates) is a futon.
    Akane helped carry Mousse (as Gosunkugi was securely placed on top
    of him) all the way to the clinic. She glanced at the normally pristine
    (if occasionally disheveled) young man, and blushed slightly. He was
    sweating through a sleeveless undershirt, which hid neither his physique
    nor the effects of his martial arts training on it.
    Before she was able to stifle the blush, her eyes traveled along
    the strength of his bare arms, peripherally taking in the firmness of his
    abdomen, across his pectorals, up his collarbone and smooth throat, to
    his shining blue eyes. She blushed even more furiously, when she
    realized that the doctor's brown lens-aided eyes focussed on her. He
    just laughed.
    "Um, doctor? I have to go home and... omigosh! Breakfast!" With
    the doctor's nod, she sped off.
    I am dead. This was all that Ryoga was thinking at the time.
    He tried to hide under the folds of his shirt, but it was as futile
    as using an umbrella against a Rising Dragon Blast, and almost as
    disorienting. It should work, oh dear God, please, please work...
    Ukyo picked up the shirt, uncovering the squealing, wide-eyed pig.
    She opened her mouth in a startled manner, and took a step back.
    Could pigs fly? Ryoga's mind screamed through his ears. He
    scampered quickly, hoping to go through the exit between the chef's legs.
    Which was blocked by the business end of a really ticked-off fly
    swatter. Make that pig-swatter.
    I'm dead, Ryoga bweed. Then he was tossed into the air.
    Kuno mansion. One of many deathtraps that are strewn hither and
    yon like so much like flotsam, jetsam and bedlam (especially near the
    Nerima ward).
    "AUGH!"
    The sub-verbal call for help reverberated throughout the household,
    without much response beyond the shaking of a few heads, or the change of
    direction in reptilian feet.
    Outside the house, the "Augh!" was dampened to lesser levels, as it
    shook tree, air and water alike in minute oscillations. It dove below
    the surface of the water and came into contact with the bottom of the
    pond.
    To a small figure at the bottom, it rang like the morning reveille.
    "I'm coHHHHHHHHKKK *glug*" Sasuke just kept his mouth closed and
    swam to the rescue.
    "Excuse me." She gave herself two gulps of air. "You're not
    selling encyclopedia, are you?"
    "Huh?" He was more flushed than flustered.
    "That would be a noteworthy sales pitch. 'Interested in the
    truth', indeed." Nodoka gently, but firmly, held the sheathed katana's
    hilt. "I'm sorry, but I'm not interested. I'm also in a hurry, so if
    you'll excuse me." She took the man's right arm with her own with
    authority.
    The man was unmoved. Having caught his breath, he pushed door to
    open the space a bit more. "I have... information about... your husband
    and your son."
    That struck a nerve. "That's who I'm... fetching right now."
    "At the Tendo dojo. They're not there now."
    Her shoulders sagged slightly. She looked the stranger in the eye.
    "Who are you to my family?"
    "We'll meet, I'm sure," he said, as he closed the door behind him.
    "I'm home!"
    "Sure took your time."
    "Sorry!" Akane walked into the living room, to see breakfast
    already laid out. Nabiki was behind her, coming from upstairs. "I ran
    into Mousse and Gosunkugi, passed out on the road."
    Nabiki smirked. "Never knew they had it in'em. On the road, too."
    Akane gave a little sigh of relief. Nabiki was in higher spirits
    than usual. "Of course not. Took them to Dr. Tofu's."
    Nabiki made a clicking sound. "You naughty girl."
    Stop blushing, Akane yelled at herself. "Why?" she shyly
    inquired.
    "Because you're still chasing after Dr. Tofu. And I was betting on
    you and Ranma getting married before the end of the year."
    Akane felt very much her namesake. Bitterly annoyed and horribly
    embarrassed clashed in monochrome on her cheeks. "Nabiki!" she weakly
    got out.
    "Touché," the older sister stuck her tongue out, triumphant.
    That's for making me wait. I'm famished.
    Decked in her strong-hemmed yellow one-piece dress, Hinako
    scrambled into and out of the nooks and crannies of her apartment.
    "Where is it?" She hyper-skipped into the bathroom. She fled the scene
    in almost the same breath. She poked into a walk-in closet and suddenly
    "waiiiiii!"ed, waving a wide-brimmed light yellow hat. Happily, she
    locked the apartment as she took a wave-wavy path to the Tendo household.
    Owwwwwwwwwwwwwww.
    Tsubasa did not wake up in a very good mood.
    It was very, very smelly. He did not want to see what he thought
    he was in.
    He tried to stretch, but something was cramping him in.
    He tried to yawn, but his lips were stuck in some... well, hardened
    glue or something. Nope, not quite. He hoped he wasn't sucking on a
    bottle.
    Then he felt... it. Something was moving... and it was wrapped
    around his legs. Smooth, ticklish and distinctly warm.
    A memory: he was in an alley. In a trash pile.
    The final piece was when he heard and felt a very feminine "mmm..."
    Felt it. In his gums.
    He opened his eyes.
    He liked what he saw.
    He closed them again and rode away...
    "... to Dr. Tofu's," Kasumi was finishing. She quietly placed the
    letter in the middle of the book.
    "I'll get the plates," Akane volunteered.
    Nabiki looked dubious. "Are you sure you can make it on your own?"
    Kasumi had her back turned. "Oh, don't worry. I just need... a
    check-up."
    Nabiki caught the pause. Still, "be careful."
    Kasumi "hmm-mmm"ed.
    "Kasumi?"
    She turned. "What is it, Nabiki?"
    "Will you be home for lunch?"
    Kasumi kept an even expression as she had moved from slight
    confusion to realization. "Oh dear. I'll try to-"
    "Don't." Nabiki slyly smiled. "Tell you what," she started,
    taking a credit card from a pocket, "take Dr. Tofu to lunch. On me."
    Time stopped.
    "Blast! My sister's fiendish charge must have jostled my
    timepiece!" Kuno lamented. "Now, I might never set my assemblies and
    rendezvous when Nature best gratifies the human soul!"
    "Aaaah!" Sasuke over-reacted. "My watch has stopped too!"
    "'Tis a day of lamentation, and grave meditation, when time ceases
    and ends. I must be with my loves!" Thereby finding a laudable excuse,
    Kuno spared his servant the rest of his speech.
    "Aaaah! Master Kuno!" A puff of smoke marked his escape.
    "Shucks! And I just wanted to ask if he knew where Mistress Kodachi was.
    Those ropes won't hold the alligator. I... what's this?" He picked up a
    recipe.
    "Oh, it's a clue!" He started sniffing the paper. He tried
    getting fingerprints, but only got his own. He scratched his head. "I
    know this is a clue... but how?"
    Absently, he read the recipe aloud. "... potent... dilute in one
    liter per teaspoon... instantly falls in love with whoever of the
    opposite gender... blah... target of affection changes every time the
    victim (?) loses consciousness... do not dispose of by feeding to animals
    or by washing in running water... what a bunch of rubbish." And with
    that, he crumpled the disproved clue, and thought nothing of it.
    Time continued.
    Kasumi took the rectangular plastic. Her openly asking glance
    would have prompted a similar glance from the middle sister, had she been
    there with her. Instead, she was already inside asking Akane, "you got a
    minute?"
    Akane washed her hands off with two sheets of towelette. "Yeah.
    Why?"
    "Let's," Nabiki started, leaning forward confidentially, "make a
    deal."
    Why... wha-? She tied him up, gagged him, and was now lugging him
    off, carrying him across her shoulder. Ryoga was now certain that, in
    spite of certainties, Ukyo was an Amazon. Of course, he was now a pig,
    and it was far better to be tossed across someone's shoulder than held by
    the scruff of his neck or by his tail (he was quite sure that that would
    weaken him immensely). Or maybe on one's bosom...
    Oh, shut up, he told his currently eloquent panic systems.
    Why? it babbled back. It gets you into this type of trouble, but
    it's soooooo much better, right?
    It would be better, he thought, if I could just look at her face,
    find out... what?
    You were never good at body language. Got you into as much
    trouble.
    Oh, just shut up.
    Thus, he sped down from panic to good, wholesome depression.
    She hates me.
    Now she's going to COOK you.
    Ryoga bonked his panic center once for good measure.
    Where IS she taking me?
    This was when he got tossed into a really dark room. Ukyo closed
    the door behind her, leaving him in a state of confusion. Not
    necessarily a problem, or unusual, just... distressing.
    Ryoga busied himself by removing the bandanna gagging him. After
    spitting out the cloth, he wondered when he last took a bath. He had
    already removed two of the other bandannas and was shaking his
    hindquarters to get out of the last one when the door opened slightly.
    On the floor, Ukyo's silhouette bent toward him, leaving a lump, then
    straightened.
    He pondered the parcel in the doorway, and weighed its
    significance.
    The kettle whistled light steam.
    A door slid open.
    Two gi-clad legs entered tentatively, only to be replaced by the
    sliding shut of the door.
    The young woman fashioned a cautious posture, eyes darting to the
    darker corners of the room. Not satisfied by her visual sweep, she began
    to pace the room in even steps, each leading to and from a back stance.
    For each turn of her body, her head tilted within a tight angle to
    increase her perception.
    And still, the creaking of the floorboards made all noise.
    She stepped out of the natural lighting and closer to the darkened
    end of the dojo, where most of the hi-tech recording and reproduction
    equipment were usually set-up. Another step completely shaded her eyes,
    and she took a moment to refocus her vision.
    That's when her assailant struck.
    Out of a corner, a silhouette leapt upward and forward, with its
    outstretched arms in front of its head. It missed the young woman's head
    by inches, as the latter dropped into a roll further into the shadows.
    The young woman stood in the darkness, while her assailant turned
    to flash a focussed expression. "Nabiki!" she hissed.
    She saw Nabiki jump back into the wall, her own gi rustling
    slightly. "Just checking your reflexes."
    Her own sister was egging her on? With a low grunt, Akane rushed
    from her obfuscation and into Nabiki's personal space rather quickly and
    with strikes from both arms.
    As Akane's punches came within range, Nabiki extended her arms to
    fend off blows. She soon found that she had her back to the wall itself,
    and that she was being pelted by close-range hits.
    Akane was beginning to wonder whether or not this was a good idea.
    She hadn't been using full force, but Nabiki has yet to put up an
    offense.
    "Na-" she began, when she was suddenly swept backwards by a kick
    behind her shins. Nabiki delivered a vicious elbow to her abdomen. "-
    bOOF!"
    Nabiki jumped away from the wall and where Akane was. "Don't pull
    any punches!" she huffed.
    Akane pushed herself up, pushed her breakfast back into place, and
    put her mind to setting some etiquette into her sister. "Kiyaaaaaa!"
    she came in with a sidekick.
    The door closed.
    In the dining room, Nodoka Saotome sat, still as she had been for
    moments hence. The sword stretched across the table.
    In seconds more, Nodoka shook herself out of the stupor. She took
    the ancestral sword of the honorable Saotome clan dating back to the
    times of feudal Japan, when honor and loyalty was all, by the hilt. She
    raised it to the light, allowing the ricepaper sheath to fall to the
    floor.
    She was now judge, jury and executioner, as representative to the
    ancestors whose laws were broken, to the family of peers to which they
    have found guilty, and the blade whose law will be final, and all.
    To the father, her husband, a treason beyond all reasoning.
    To the daughter he had birthed, she washed her hands of her. But
    their fates were one, and she, too, must suffer.
    Tomorrow. When they return from Mt. Fuji.
    And the ancient blade shone laughing, knowing that it will be
    bathed at long, long last.
    Gosunkugi blinked awake. He saw that he was inside an infirmary of
    sorts. Much to his chagrin, he noticed that the three books he had
    borrowed from the library were missing. He walked around, hoping that it
    hadn't been left on the street.
    He stumbled into an adjacent room. There was a heavy wooden table
    in the middle of the room, a filing cabinet near the door, and a bookcase
    to a side. There was also a couch under the window to the far wall, and
    a door to the side. As it was, he was enamored by the olden tomes with
    archaic titles, when the doorbell sounded.
    "Hello?" A soft female voice. "Dr. Tofu?"
    This was Dr. Tofu's? Gosunkugi had heard of it, but had never seen
    it or been there before.
    "Who is it?" A male voice, presumably Dr. Tofu's. The sound of
    thick glass crunched. "K-k-kasumi?"
    Gosunkugi was pulling out several tomes, hoping to borrow them.
    "Doctor... are you all right? You're crushing your mug in your
    fist."
    "Wh-what a-amazing circum-s-stance for us to... to be in the, uh,
    same place at this t-time..."
    Gosunkugi deigned to wait for the good doctor on the couch.
    The voices seemed closer, and the doors were heard to have closed.
    "Well, this is your clinic after all..."
    He happened upon a file labeled "Hair" on the table.
    "Oh, this is Akane's friend, Mousse."
    "W-well, he's been a good p-patient. Haven't you, Mousse?"
    Betty wasn't able to comment on Dr. Tofu's patting.
    Gosunkugi noted that a sample of Ranma's hair was attached to the
    file. "Ah? This would come in handy..."
    "Dr. Tofu." The voice sounded soft, but with a stiff back to it.
    Kasumi held Dr. Tofu's shoulder. "We need to talk."
    Dr. Tofu's free arm shoved Mousse from off his bed, cutting his nap
    time significantly.
    Ukyo never felt quite as tense as this.
    After leaving Ryoga a kettle in the storeroom, she opened up shop,
    convinced that she wasn't going to let anything change her mood, which
    now was quite confused.
    So she opened up shop, late as it already was. The hubbub of
    everyday life filled her, and she let it ring in her ears. Soon, orders
    came in at a rate which pushed out anything else from her mind, and the
    okonomiyaki sizzled on her grill without a sign of remorse.
    That was two hours ago. As lunch hour loomed into view, her mind
    grew restless, and posed a simple question.
    Where was he?
    He would have surely taken the opportunity to make tracks. After
    all, the worst has come to worst, and, like it or not, he's toast.
    She firmly decided to give him a clean getaway. If he left, she
    wouldn't stop him. If he stayed, she wouldn't mind. They could easily
    cover up this whole incident, and none would be worse for the wear.
    No, she wasn't angry. It made too much sense.
    Hmm. He probably wouldn't want to talk about it, then.
    ...
    I wish he would.
    I wish he'd just... leave.
    The clang of the metal on concrete shrugged off her haze.
    Ryoga stood up, leaving the kettle.
    "I... we have to talk."
    The man strode down Nerima's streets, humming a song.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    (Detach here)
    Right after spending two solid months of writing the anniversary
    side story for Tsubasa's "origin", I find myself rushing to meet the
    schedule of a-month-a-chapter for the main Switch story. With me working
    on 23 fanfic titles concurrently, only four of which being non-Ranma, I
    find myself squaring against an ML up to its gills with Ranma fanfics.
    (Does anybody know the address of Ranma ML?)
    Needless to say, I'll leave you guys with several cliffhangers.
    All will be revealed in time. Someone still out there reading? I hope
    so. I'm not even sure... I'll just keep'em coming! Watch out for low-
    flying plotlines, though...
    Halfway into day 2, we have the following standings:
    Akane: locked in mortal combat with sister
    Nabiki: locked in mortal combat with sister
    Ryoga: in the Ucchan's, with Ukyo
    Ukyo: busy in the Ucchan's, with Ryoga
    Kasumi: at Dr. Tofu's, keeping Dr. Tofu company
    Tofu: out to lunch, in present and projected future, with Kasumi
    Betty: standing pretty, in Dr. Tofu's
    Shampoo: asleep in the Cat Cafe, second floor
    Tsubasa: with Kodachi, in the alley outside the Cat Cafe
    Nodoka: last with the man, at the Saotome house
    Kuno: making time for Akane and the pig-tailed goddess, somewhere
    Sasuke: at the Kuno estate, throwing away evidence
    Kodachi: making out with Tsubasa, outside the Cat Cafe
    Mousse: waking up, at Dr. Tofu's
    Mr. Turtle: tied up, at the Kuno estate
    Gosunkugi: trying to get away with it, at Dr. Tofu's
    Hinako: happily on her way to the Tendo-ke
    The man: last seen spreading deceit and mystery at the Saotomes'
    Next up, the flirty dozen. Are these titles going to get any
    sillier? What does the man think he's doing? Will time really stop if
    Nabiki gives away money? Will Kodachi find true love? Will Tsubasa get
    out of the carton? Why is this getting so soapish? Where the hell are
    Ranma, Genma, Soun, Cologne and Happosai? Will Dr. Tofu see eye-to-eye
    with Kasumi before Gosunkugi takes it away? And, finally, what stories
    can an empty house tell? Film at 11.
    Please somehow send C&C.
    (Detach here)
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    


	14. Odds and Ends: Park Life


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Odds and Ends: Park Life by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny thanks to whoever saw this.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Skipping about in the story, and compiling whatever post-mortem and pre-
    natal side stories which may come to mind, Odds and Ends has them all.
    Side stories from the minds of the people (and non-people) of NFT fics.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    "Girls who are boys who like boys to be girls who
    do boys like their girls who do girls like their boys
    always should be someone to really love."
    - Blur, "Girls and Boys"
    from the album "Park Life"
    This narration could be completely safe to begin a bird's eye view
    of the why's and how's of the life of Tsubasa Kurenai at the Kurenai
    household. It would also be very short: it was quiet, most of the time.
    The particular "why" this is true is mainly because things do not
    happen at this household. That is it.
    Actually, things do happen.
    For example, take the time when Tsubasa was born.
    Mr. Kurenai was an artist. He was an artist by trade, which would
    mean that he did artsy stuff, and this was mainly because anyone who was
    an artist at the time was in the papers; they expected artists to do
    artsy stuff.
    "Artsy stuff" very much included whatever the artist was expected
    to produce, e. g. a painter a painting, a sculptor a sculpture, et
    cetera. What Mr. Kurenai did as an artist was not really important, and
    neither was the quality of this work. This narration would, if it wanted
    to divulge that information, have to use artsy words, and would have to
    assume a high-handed, if not completely wrong, tone of voice on its
    position.
    Mrs. Kurenai, henceforth assumed, was the breadwinner.
    The main source of inspiration for Mr. Kurenai's work was chaos.
    This was provided for, for the earlier part of the marriage by the
    fact that the missus did all the work, and the mister did nothing but
    loaf. Of course, this was not true: after they'd argue about it, Mr.
    Kurenai would be able to create his art.
    But, as the reader would note, it was no surprise that they had
    their first child within the first year of their marriage.
    This narration then goes into the first "artsy stuff"ing associated
    with Tsubasa Kurenai: the name.
    While Mrs. Kurenai was with child for but three months, they had
    planned on names. The fact that Mrs. Kurenai herself had been an artsy
    type herself would aid in the following excerpt:
    "... Ranma? 'Wild Horse'? What kind of name is that?" She.
    "It is sort of androgynous, though. Beats having to choose on the
    day." He.
    "... but if she were a girl, then she'd be Ranko. 'Wild girl'?"
    "No, no. You've got the kanji all wrong..." Some scribbling.
    "See?"
    Some scrubbing sounds. "Sometimes, I wonder what I saw in you."
    Laughing. "Okay, okay. How about... Ukyo?"
    "Now what's that a reference to? Genjiro? Or are you planning to
    force the child into monkhood?"
    "... yeah, 'suppose. I mean, what if she's a girl?"
    More laughing.
    "... wait. Wait. How about... 'Reed'?"
    "Nope, no. Sounds so... male. Going for androgynous."
    "... oh, right. Wait... got it." More scribbling.
    "What's... oh. Hmm... Tsubasa. 'Wing.' 'Crimson Wing.' Neat."
    More scribbling. "Now here's a costume that can go well..."
    Sounds of violence.
    Unfortunately, Mrs. Kurenai had a labored childbirth, and thus
    foregone all future arguments. Thence started the period of quiet that
    came with the birth of Tsubasa Kurenai.
    This period of silence was a fairly good period for the Kurenai
    residence in general, and for Tsubasa Kurenai in particular. It actually
    gave him time to grow up normally, with no strong interest in the arts,
    and without him and his father having to leave to become one with the
    art, and without requiring his mother to force his father to promise to
    raise the young Kurenai as a man among men, among other things.
    He, in fact, was a very normal child. One who had a very pissed
    father.
    Now, his father had a complete and utter tranquility in his
    household. It completely blocked his artistic expression, and made him
    need to create chaos. One day, they had just seen him try to fill the
    room with chicken feathers, and stopped him in time for the glue.
    For years, he moped about the house in some effort to attain the
    grateful disorder he sought, but became easily reminded of two things:
    his wife, and their son.
    That was, until he struck a plan.
    Dinner was, as usual, subdued. That was going to change, soon
    enough.
    Mrs. Kurenai pushed her glasses along the bridge of her nose. Her
    straight hair was starting to curl, and it was a sure sign that she
    needed to calm down. She had this perpetually wary look that made sure
    that she, if she would see anything distasteful, had the expression ready
    at all times. It suited her well.
    Tsubasa, all of six years, was seated across from his mother. He
    was also across from his father, which facilitated family talks very
    well. He pushed a light brown bang from his eyes, a sure sign that he
    would have to have his haired trimmed to its regular boys' cut.
    Dinner was sukiyaki, with some wasabi. Also, it was some tempura.
    In any case, dinner did not really care whether it was finished or
    not, and neither did Mr. Kurenai.
    "Tsubasa," he said, excitement bubbling. He did not call him "son"
    because this was a more authoritative name to call one's son. He liked
    having to call people by their first names. Besides, his wife took care
    of the usage of all the relative terms, and used them extremely well.
    "Husband," she demonstrated, "could it wait? We're in the middle
    of dinner."
    "What is it, father?" was all that Tsubasa said.
    "If you would," he said, "come to the studio after this meal. I...
    I have a surprise."
    "Yes, father."
    Thus dinner continued.
    The studio was where Mr. Kurenai displayed his skills as an artist.
    Actually, this was not entirely true: he finished works in a frenzy,
    usually within a night or a day, then hid them immediately before anyone
    had the chance to criticize it. In any case, it was where he did his do.
    Tsubasa came in to find his father on the couch, sitting upright,
    facing the door. He had a playful expression on.
    "Tsubasa, I have something that you might want to see."
    He pointed to the larger part of the room. Tsubasa turned to face
    it.
    In the middle of the room, highlighted by several spotlights that
    were there, was a set of drums. Not the usual three-or-four-drums-with-
    one-or-two-cymbals ensemble that the nineties bands would so often have,
    but some thing which consisted of about ten to twelve drums, four cymbal
    groups, a triangle, and a tambourine. Behind it was a huge mass of audio
    reproduction hardware that caused the back end of the room to look like
    it came out of a set of the original Star Trek.
    Needless to say, it scared the heck out of Tsubasa.
    "Wha-what is it?"
    His father clasped a shoulder. "It's yours."
    Now, if your father tells you that you now own that junkheap of a
    jalopy that you can see across the street, it is only understandable that
    you would be the first to send it to the junkyard it so belongs to. But
    a drum set is one of the really, really cool monsters you can own. Sort
    of like finding Godzilla tied to a tree in your backyard and having him
    give you rides on his back, possibly while he's trashing half of Tokyo.
    Moral: there are monsters, and then, there are monsters.
    "Give me the keys" was all Tsubasa said.
    "Uh, it doesn't need keys," said his father.
    Thus ended the quiet times.
    This narration then starts a deceleration, and a change of scene.
    To those truly interested in finding out more about the household, the
    next scene (as well as scenes returning there) can summarize:
    Some very, very odd crashing noises, in some sort of beat.
    Mrs. Kurenai stopped chopping to answer the doorbell.
    "Hello?" A pause.
    "Yes, yes. I'm so sorry for the bother. He DID install
    soundproofing. Oh, the wrong ROOM. Yes. Yes, I read that magazine.
    That? Oh, it was a good comedy... oh, of course it's gory... I feel the
    same, sometimes. *sigh* Yes, yes. Good night, Mr. Takada."
    The sound of a door closing, some steps, then a door opening.
    The crashes sounded louder.
    To say the least, Mr. Kurenai was now a very prolific artist.
    Tsubasa Kurenai, then.
    His entire schooling was in all-boy schools.
    For any child of before puberty, there are only two stages of life:
    work and play. Work, of course, was school. Except for the last
    statement, the same could be said for children past the age of majority.
    The main difference between an all-boy school and a coed school is,
    of course, the scenery. There are lots more pinks in a coed school.
    Most children below puberty are boys, including those who have long hair
    and wear dresses. And so, the main difference in an all-boy school and
    an all-girl school is not actually in the population, but in the
    organization.
    For example, there are no bands in all-girl schools.
    The music club had a big hall for itself. This is because rarely
    would any other club in an all-boy school want to get into close quarters
    with its music club. The last club that tried to bunk with them was the
    art club, but since no one seemed to take chaos as a source of
    inspiration among them, it left soon after.
    This was good, and there were three band sets built-up in the
    building, with lots of room for acoustics.
    Band sets actually mostly consist of two things: drum sets, and
    audio reproduction equipment. Whatever instruments can be found in a
    band were usually portable, and therefore taken home. Besides, all of
    the audio equipment there were tied in to the sound system of the club.
    The drama club made good use of the tapings of most sessions of the music
    club; they make the most authentic sound effects for automobile
    accidents, even those in Hokkaido.
    A band that was there was in the process of lamentation. It is
    quite an established fact that any band purporting to be of the "rock"
    genre has four basic instruments: a lead guitar, a bass, a drum set, and
    a vocalist. Since the vocalist may play another instrument, that makes
    the minimum number of members three. The aforementioned band had quite
    recently had its population decreased to two.
    The two that were there were named Daisuke and Hiroshi. Hiroshi
    had short salt-and-peppery brown hair (that would look its absolute worst
    if it went past shoulder-length), to match the salt-and-peppery look his
    freckles made his face appear to have, and was contrapuntal to the sleek,
    ponytailed black-haired look Daisuke wore. Without trying to, they
    looked rather grungy in their deep blue uniforms.
    (If anybody asked them, they did not know that they resembled a
    pair from another school this narration will not bother to mention. But
    that's life, ne?)
    "He... he left us, didn't he?" Hiroshi was as close to tears as he
    would get.
    "Yes," Daisuke affirmed. He crossed his arms in front of him.
    "Well, we'll just have to get ourselves a new vocalist."
    "You need a new member?" a seemingly feminine voice said.
    They looked to the end of the room, where a figure with long hair
    stood in shadows that concealed its features well. It took a step, then
    another.
    Hiroshi stood up, didn't bother to cover his eyes. "Cute..."
    Before anyone could stop him, he went to glomp upon the newcomer.
    "Aaag!" said the figure. Then, Hiroshi was bodily thrown to the
    floor.
    Daisuke stepped in to diffuse the situation. "Um... Miss? Can we
    help you with anything?" He nudged Hiroshi with the toe of his shoe.
    "Uhhhhh... amyfim?" Hiroshi agreed.
    Tsubasa took another step forward, which then put his face into a
    clearer light. "Jeez, what a dump. Doesn't even have decent lighting."
    "'Ey!" From the floor. "Ah wezembl'at wemaw-k."
    "Do you have a brother in the music club, Miss?" Daisuke still
    couldn't see the point.
    Tsubasa turned to face Daisuke with a searing glance. "I! AM! A!
    GUY!"
    "What?" Daisuke mused.
    "Mwat?" Hiroshi grumbled.
    "And I study here! And I said DO YOU NEED A NEW MEMBER?"
    Tsubasa's voice reverberated in the near-perfect acoustics of the hall.
    The Indian scout simply noted: "mwou."
    Daisuke nodded. "Ditto." He turned to Tsubasa. "Well, in fact,
    we did have that sort of a problem." He extended a hand. "I'm Daisuke,
    the lump on the floor is Hiroshi."
    "Tsubasa Kurenai." The two longer-haired men shook hands. Tsubasa
    then turned to the other. "Sorry 'bout that." He extended a hand.
    "Mo mrob." Hiroshi stood up. "Zemzidib 'boud jember. Ngod id."
    "So," Daisuke was all business, "we're looking for a vocalist. How
    many octaves can you do?"
    "Three, with an extra do. What happened to your vocalist?"
    Hiroshi finally got the circulation back into his nose. "Head blew
    up."
    "Pardon?"
    Daisuke seemed fitted to the translation. "He got too cocky, blew
    his head off at us."
    Hiroshi raved. "What am I supposed to do? Wear my hair long, grow
    a beard, pick up a guitar, and sing?"
    Daisuke chose to ignore his bandmate. Tsubasa goggled.
    The ponytailed guy just said, "anyway, can you play an instrument?"
    Tsubasa chuckled. "Just watch."
    The two music club members watched the newcomer go to a drum set.
    Revealing two drumsticks, he checked the pitch of the three drums in
    front of him, the cymbals, then the snare. Satisfied with the toning, he
    began a percussion riff which was intended for a heavy metal song. To
    say the least, it would be very impressive if this narrative could
    describe it in terms that could be understood by all. Truthfully, if the
    riff could be enough to impress by itself, then it would indeed be
    impressive.
    Daisuke and Hiroshi were impressed. Tsubasa had achy shins,
    because he didn't use a chair.
    As soon as the trio was reformed, a subdued Hiroshi said, "that's
    it. I'm out of a job."
    Tsubasa's face fell. "You... you already have a drummer?"
    Daisuke pointed at his partner.
    Hiroshi just sullenly looked at the guy with the black ponytail.
    "I don't suppose you can just teach me bass?"
    Obviously, the three were able to reform the band: true to his
    impromptu prediction, Hiroshi took on the reins of lead guitarist and
    vocals (but did not grow that much hair, as they all were kind of a year
    from puberty), Daisuke was the bass player ("hey, someone cool has to
    play bass" was his only explanation), and Tsubasa would do drums ("the
    drummer as the singer? That went out with the Eagles," was what Hiroshi
    said). In a serendipitous twist of fate, Hiroshi actually had a passably
    good singing voice, so it wasn't a complete loss.
    Once that was determined, they needed a new name. Originally, with
    their vocalist being that bigmouth Konatsu Oguchi, their band had been
    appropriately named "The Big Mouth". The change of name would be enough
    cause for celebration.
    "... 'Nine Degrees Beijing'," offered Hiroshi.
    "Enough with that manga influence, bonehead," Daisuke said, bopping
    him.
    "Yeah," Tsubasa snorted, "I mean, no honestly cool rock outfit
    would have its singer openly admit to being a fanboy, right?"
    Hiroshi scratched his head. "'Suppose that means 'Heaven and Earth
    Not Needed' is out."
    The drummer continued. "I was thinking more of... maybe, 'Wild
    Stallions'."
    Hiroshi exclaimed, "excellent!" Then he did a riff on his air-
    guitar.
    Daisuke looked unimpressed. "What'd that make us? Wild horses?"
    Tsubasa eyeballed Hiroshi. "This joke's gotten nowhere, fast."
    Hiroshi affirmed it. "Okay, okay. How's about Sanzenin?"
    "'Three thousand palaces'? What's that supposed to mean?"
    "Nothing. Just a name, right?"
    Tsubasa said, "wrong. There's got to be some sense, some point to
    it."
    Hiroshi thought, "what does Hiroshima mean then?"
    Daisuke added, "or Shonen Knife?"
    Tsubasa pleaded guilty, both palms up, "okay, okay." Then he went
    serious, "but it still doesn't give us a name."
    Hiroshi put a finger to his temple. "Maybe something in English?
    That's the 'in' thing."
    Tsubasa stuck his tongue out at him. "I'm not sure I'd remember
    what it would mean, after a while. Not my strong suit."
    Daisuke said, "what about 'Blue Thunder'?"
    They all blinked.
    Hiroshi said, "naah. Too easily goofed. Can you say 'True
    Blunder'?"
    "Okay. Nix the poetic sounding names."
    Tsubasa thought, then laughed. "Y'know, I thought of something
    about my name. It used to make me think that I was part of... you know."
    Daisuke said, "what?"
    Hiroshi understood. "Some superhero group or something, right?"
    Tsubasa nodded.
    Daisuke said it. "Oh, I get it. Seito Sentai, right?"
    "'Student Task Force'. I like it."
    Tsubasa "gaah"ed. "You... you guys are taking this seriously..."
    Hiroshi nod-nodded.
    Daisuke shrugged. "Better'n nothing."
    He just rolled his eyes.
    Tsubasa and his band "Seito Sentai" were not prolific, but they
    worked the circuit. They played popular songs; they played underground
    songs. They tried to play some of the English songs, but rarely did
    that. The rarest of what they did play would be stuff they did by
    themselves.
    As with all other artsy stuff, this narration declines providing a
    description.
    What it will provide, in lieu, is some of the details that would be
    important to the further skills that Tsubasa has been known to exhibit.
    (Namely, those other than his percussion skills.)
    But first, we return to the homefront:
    Some very, very familiar crashing noises, in some sort of beat.
    These now accompanied by several ear-lopping tinny shrieks.
    Mrs. Kurenai did not stop chopping to answer the doorbell.
    The doorbell rang again. In response to some unknown sixth sense,
    she removed the earmuffs. She shuffled to the door.
    "Good evening." A pause.
    "Yes, yes. My son IS having some of his friends over, again. I
    know that the century hasn't passed yet. Yes. No, I really couldn't
    believe that seven motorcycles couldn't match that... AND three cars, did
    you say? No, no. I'm sure that anyone could mistake a "sa" for a
    "da"... no, I don't believe I'd wish I was ordering delivery teriyaki
    instead, Mr. Fujishima."
    The sound of a door closing, some steps, then a door opening.
    The crashes sounded louder. These now accompanied by higher
    pitched shrieks.
    Mr. Kurenai was so happy that he bought his son some "clothes" from
    a garage sale when their last set of neighbors vacated. He said that
    they were, last time he checked, proper attire for a "punk band".
    Tsubasa was inclined to note that punk rock had died out with hair-dyeing
    and fishnet stockings, but had thought that there was at least some merit
    in his father's warped thinking.
    Anyway, this sparked some argument with the missus.
    Mr. Kurenai was one who knew his life's work well.
    Daisuke was sifting through some leather unmentionables. "What
    again are we sifting through here in yon wardrobe for?"
    Tsubasa raised his head to look at Daisuke squarely. He said, "a
    GIMMICK."
    Daisuke's eyes widened. "We don't NEED a gimmick. We've got HIM."
    He chucked a thumb over to Hiroshi's location in the pile.
    Hiroshi peeped through some duct tape that stuck some streamers
    together. "What? Me?"
    Daisuke laughed. "Yes, you. The one with the," he changed to a
    baritone, "husky voice."
    "For your information," Hiroshi retorted, "this," he matched the
    accent, "husky voice," then returned to normal, "drives all the women
    wild."
    Tsubasa put in, "well, I wouldn't want any," he emphasized the
    quotation marks, "'women' chasing me. I'd rather have some chicks hang
    around."
    Daisuke had evidently found something of interest in his corner of
    the pile, under all the whips, chains, and cheesy-looking jewelry. He
    motioned towards Hiroshi, who then motioned to Tsubasa. Tsubasa, who was
    waxing philosophic, didn't even notice.
    "Come to think of it," he started, "I'd probably not be looking for
    a group of loving, adorably cute chicks hang around me. Yup, I'd just be
    looking for that one girl, one girl who'll show me all the caring I'd
    ever need. Then, then... hey, what are you guys -"
    Daisuke and Hiroshi started to bear upon Tsubasa, in a decidedly
    menacing fashion. "Uh, guys..." Tsubasa was beginning to sweat.
    Daisuke began, "there's a girl we know..."
    Hiroshi nodded, "and she's as into the band as you are..."
    Tsubasa knew something was up. "Yeah...?"
    "Oh, yeah," Daisuke visibly agreed. "And, I think she's gonna help
    us with that gimmick of yours. Actually, you know her..."
    Tsubasa came to the sickening realization that they had backed him
    into the corner of his room. He wondered whether he should scream for
    help. Remembering that his father was in the studio as soon as that
    fight he and his mom had had had ended, and that his mother had been
    preparing their dinner with earmuffs again, he just "eep"ed.
    Hiroshi pounced on him, and before he turned, Tsubasa saw that he
    had unsheathed his ferocious white paws...
    White paws?
    Then came a flash of pink. "If that's my blood, I must be getting
    anemic," said Tsubasa in a weak tone. Then he fainted.
    Hiroshi just held his hands as they were. "Hey!" Daisuke had come
    down to check up on their drummer. "What an actor."
    They just went ahead and gimmicked.
    Tsubasa "unnnggghhh"ed, and saw that he had fallen where he was a
    while back, in the corner of the room. Daisuke and Hiroshi had
    disappeared. He drew an arm over his forehead... must've been a weird...
    what?
    He looked at the arm some more. Then the other.
    Then he felt like he wanted to kill.
    "... here, have some more cake," Mrs. Kurenai offered.
    "Thank you, ma'am," was what Daisuke and Hiroshi said. The three
    of them were enjoying some cake and tea.
    At the sound of Tsubasa's guttural scream, the two would-be
    musicians, turned to the hostess. "This is really good tea, ma'am,"
    Daisuke said evenly.
    "Good cake, too," Hiroshi added, between bites.
    "Thank you," said the madam, and took a sip of her own.
    Tsubasa entered in what could classically be called a barbaric
    manner, which clashed completely with the frilly pink dress he was
    wearing rather well. At the sight of his bandmates, he did one of his
    more bestial looks, combined with some tooth-gnashing.
    "Oh, Tsubasa. Have some cake and tea with your friends," Mrs.
    Kurenai said.
    Tsubasa barely afforded his mother a glance. "Can it wait, mother?
    I'm just planning to gut my friends from their shoulder blades to their
    throats via their crotches."
    "Son," she said. "Eat."
    Tsubasa knew better than to start something with his mother.
    Besides, she seemed to be taking this better than he had assumed, in
    hindsight. Right then, he took a seat across from his friends, and bit
    into his cake as violently as he could.
    "Your friends were telling me about how you enjoyed your father's
    gifts," she said.
    Tsubasa took his cup of tea in a gulp. "Yup. 'Tseems that these
    guys enjoyed it a lot better." He saw a fly land on his shoulder, and
    brushed it off the white lace.
    Mrs. Kurenai still had no inflection. "They say that you found the
    'gimmick' you were looking for. 'A new look for the band,' you said."
    "Definitely," Hiroshi said.
    "His idea," Daisuke affirmed.
    Tsubasa took a look at his new habit. He thought about it for a
    while.
    "Son!" Mrs. Kurenai put down her mug on the low table with a
    "fragile!" sound.
    "Mother!" said Tsubasa, with some dread, facing his elder.
    She grabbed her son in a tight embrace. "I'm so happy!"
    Tsubasa had an I-almost-swallowed-my-tongue look. "What?"
    The housekeeper suddenly pulled out several dozen other dresses.
    "I don't have to throw out these really great dresses I have!"
    The teen percussionist did a perfect face-fault.
    Thus, it began that Tsubasa would "dress up" for band performances.
    Just so that there really wasn't any bad feelings, there are times when
    Hiroshi and Daisuke would pick out stuff from Mrs. Kurenai's almost
    discarded stuff. To say the least, at least they were in fashion with
    the rest of the music industry: female-vocals bands were coming into the
    limelight, anyway.
    What is outside this narration, however, is the discussion of the
    merits of this change of image. Since it is not exactly known whether or
    not they were a popular or a notorious band to begin with, it could not
    be determined whether they were a more popular or a more notorious band
    (or a less popular, or a less notorious band). Leave it to say that they
    also had the nicknames of "Bishojo Sentai" and "Seito Hentai".
    Ukyo stood before the apartment house. She checked the address she
    had and, sure enough, it was the place. She unloaded the stuff she had
    brought from the trunk of the taxi. The cabbie was actually kind enough
    to help her, but wouldn't want to get his hands on the jar of okonomiyaki
    sauce that she had made. Not that he had anything against okonomiyaki
    (he loved it, in fact, and had politely asked for a small sample of sauce
    in lieu of the fare, which Ukyo had politely declined; he had also
    hefted some of the other jars of sauce), it was just that the connoisseur
    in him said that the stuff just smelled wrong.
    She really wanted to tell him off at that, but she stopped herself,
    and focussed her anger at... him. Yessss... it felt good. Better'n
    counting to ten. She paid the cabbie her fare, plus the ten percent tip
    that put a smile on his face. Good business policy, her father always
    said, was not to waste any cash.
    Her mother told her that money was never wasted on people.
    This was the place that her father got for her ahead of time. It
    would also be the last place that she would live in that she didn't pay
    for with her own money. It was a one story flat, with a single bedroom,
    a single toilet, and a modest-sized bathroom ("modern" one, that is;
    shower-type thing). The vast majority of the floor space was occupied by
    a large room, which had been remodeled with a wall to cut off a storage
    area for the ingredients, and a grill cutting off the door to the new
    wall. She would still have to make a few phone calls to complete the
    shop, and "Kuonji's Okonomiyaki" would open its first branch east of
    Kyoto.
    She took a look at the mountains of stuff she had brought, and
    heaved a sigh that squeezed her chest against her bandages in a bad way.
    Hoo boy. She looked down, and saw something that could be big trouble.
    Somethings.
    "Have to tighten these bandages," she grumbled.
    "Well, I guess what they say is true: I could
    never the right kind of girl for you. I could never be
    your woman."
    - White Town, "Your Woman"
    from the album
    "Women in Technology"
    Tsubasa had had the good luck, in the last year of his junior high,
    to have both of the other members of "Seito Sentai" in his class. That
    way, they could afford to stay together at the back of the room and
    collectively sneer at the rest of their classmates. The last time they
    did that, Hiroshi had to be bodily ejected from the class he was in
    because of the two who weren't supposed to be in it.
    Daisuke surprised them by having his hair cut short, and by
    delineating a riff he had produced which, while it wasn't for a lead
    guitar, was definitely not for a bass. Tsubasa took the fact that he
    could barely create more than eight notes on a drum set (much less five
    chord patterns) to mean that Daisuke had landed upon a new band concept.
    "... same way a bass is a secondary percussion instrument," Tsubasa
    was noting, "this rhythm guitar does the secondary... rhythm?"
    "All the rage for a while now," Hiroshi commented, with an amazing
    deadpan. He turned to Daisuke. "Who've you got in mind?"
    "Ack'chally," he said, as he tried to mumble what he was going to
    say next by appearing to cough, "Konatsu gave it to me."
    Tsubasa was the first to recognize the name. "The guy you dumped?"
    Hiroshi and Daisuke gave him a glare that made him do a double
    take.
    "Okay, okay," Tsubasa amended, "your ex-lead singer."
    "Well," Hiroshi returned to their black haired bassist.
    "It... it's nothing." Daisuke turned to his bandmates. "What?
    We've survived as long as a trio so far..."
    The awkward pause in their conversation was bridged elegantly by
    the entrance of their teacher, a youngish man who wore glasses, and a
    mole near the left tip of his mouth.
    "Class," he began, all formality, "welcome to hell." He pulled out
    a wooden dark green mask, put it on, and did a pretty good impression of
    a maniac. Most of the other students just bigsweated.
    "Wonderful," Daisuke said, "our Mythology teacher is a
    reincarnation of Loki."
    "But," interjected Hiroshi, "I thought this was Asian Mythology."
    Tsubasa shrugged. The teacher suddenly stopped spinning and
    generally confusing his orientation, and stared at the door.
    "Eh?" He held the mask down. "Who might you be?"
    Ukyo stood as straight as she could, and said, "Ukyo Kuonji, the
    transfer student, sir."
    "Oh, yeah..." He hit a palm with his other hand. He turned to the
    rest of the class. "We have a new student, Ukyo Kuonji."
    "Good morning to you all," she said.
    "Is that all you have to say for yourself?" their teacher asked.
    "Well," she said, "I'm working at 'Kuonji's Okonomiyaki', which is
    just a few blocks from here."
    "Family business?" inquired the teacher, again.
    "Sort of." Ukyo didn't seem like she wanted to talk, much less be
    here.
    "Thank you." The instructor motioned to a vacant seat at the
    second row. "You can take that seat between Shun and Haruka."
    "Thank you." She took her seat, and the class started again, with
    much more of a fiasco than earlier.
    It is necessary at this point to indicate that the all-boy junior
    high school in which Tsubasa attended probably had the highest female
    population among Japanese all-boy schools, with two.
    By sheer coincidence, they had both happened to be in Tsubasa's
    class.
    "Does he have a cute sister?" began Hiroshi.
    It was a rare event to have someone transferring schools at the
    last year, and even rarer for all-boy schools. Usually, it stood for one
    thing: new people to add to the dating pool.
    Haruka demurely sipped on the canned coffee that she had. "Didn't
    say."
    Hiroshi persisted. "Oh, come on! You guys did a lot of talking,
    you couldn't have forgotten to ask that... OH!" The guitarist had a
    brief flash of insight, akin to the one Archimedes had before he ran down
    the street buck naked. "He DOES have one, doesn't he!"
    Haruka, along with Daisuke and Tsubasa, did what all self-
    respecting Japanese boys of their age (well, actually, most of the
    Nintendo generation) did, and chose to ignore the growing agitation in
    their midst. They opened their bento boxes, and ate.
    It didn't help that Hiroshi was already in a world of his own. "He
    told you about her, and you're planning to take her for yourself! Ha! I
    caught you! But I'm not going to let you get away with the head start!
    No, sir-ee bob! I'll go ask him where he lives, and go there today! Bet
    you didn't see that coming! HA!" He stormed off, joints bent at right
    angles, and basically imitating the performance they had witnessed in
    Asian Myth.
    Tsubasa looked up, and said, "took him three classes."
    Daisuke looked weary, and just nodded. "Next gig's my treat."
    Tsubasa thought. "Wanna go double or nothing?"
    Daisuke continued his attentions on his packed lunch. "If he gets
    beat up by Ukyo, we're even. If he attends the next class, I'll make it
    next two gigs."
    Tsubasa smirked. "You're on."
    Haruka chose not to comment, wishing Shun was there. Men.
    Shun, having forgotten his lunch, had to go and get it from the
    schoolwide brawl known as "lunchtime in the cafeteria".
    "There has to be some way to get out of this," he said, as he
    drowned in a dark blue sea yelling "curry bread!"
    "I guess we won't be able to try this riff, after all," Daisuke
    said, folding the songsheet.
    "That's okay," said the guy he was talking to, talking the paper.
    He had very short curly hair, which appeared to be in small clumps on his
    head. He indicated a pair of woolen black gloves he was wearing.
    "Electric guitars make my hands itch."
    "That's the reason why you wear gloves?" Tsubasa asked.
    "Nope," said the guy. He went on out of the gates. "But if you do
    unplugged, just call me!"
    "Great kid," Daisuke remarked.
    "Cool fashion sense," Tsubasa nodded.
    They were so busy talking about the other music club member, they
    almost ran into a sign in the middle of the street.
    "Whoa!" Ukyo shouted.
    "Hey!" Daisuke and Tsubasa shouted.
    With her innate sense of balance, Ukyo was able to keep on her
    toes. The others, who did not, stared blankly at her from their lower
    vantage point.
    "Sorry!" She held her arms down toward them (as she couldn't bend
    her knees) to help them up.
    Recovering first, Daisuke noted Ukyo's modified school uniform and
    said, "isn't that a little embarrassing?" Tsubasa, while brushing off
    dust from his pants, glanced again at the "Grand Opening Today! Kuonji's
    Okonomiyaki" sign being worn by his classmate, which distracted them in
    the first place.
    Ukyo said stiffly, "the more striking the advertisement, the more
    people talk about it."
    Tsubasa rubbed his back. "I thought it was striking enough."
    Ukyo winced. "I already said I was sorry, okay?" She chose not to
    pursue it, and felt her anger deplete itself.
    Daisuke just shook his head. "Actually, we're also kind of sorry."
    Ukyo continued passing out flyers to students passing by. "What
    for?"
    Tsubasa attested, "we didn't stop our friend from pestering you."
    The living billboard stopped, then colored somewhat. "Oh... that
    guy who asked if I had a cute sister."
    Daisuke put his hand on Ukyo's shoulder. "Do not fret; he well-
    deserved it. Someone had to stop his evil and lecherous ways before they
    could bloom."
    Tsubasa and Ukyo shared glances.
    The drummer whispered to Ukyo, "I sort of thought that the bit with
    the super-spatula was overkill, after tossing him to the floor. I got
    him to stop thinking that I was girl after step 1."
    Ukyo turned a few shades deeper. She gripped the handle of her
    battle spatula (which caused both rockers to take two steps back) and
    said, "I... I guess I had my temper get the better of me."
    She let go of the handle. The Student Task Force (sans lead
    vocals) gave a collective sigh of relief.
    Ukyo hit upon an idea. "To pay you guys back, I'll get you guys
    some okonomiyaki at the shop. On me."
    Tsubasa wondered, "aren't you supposed to be apologizing to Hi-",
    cut short by a well-meaning hand on his mouth.
    Daisuke waved a hand, "okay, sure thing. We'll be there."
    Mr. Kurenai was busy at work.
    He glanced slightly at the remodeled half of his studio, which now
    held a guitar and a bass. Of course, these were not his; neither were
    they his son's. He imagined all the neighbors he had had, and all of
    them paying respects to a funeral pyre, with this studio as a coffin, and
    with the equipment therein, including the bodies of his son and his
    friends, and himself, and all the art he had produced, burning in a
    hellish inferno.
    He grinned. I'll call this my red period.
    He motioned to the control panel set in the other side of the room,
    and pressed the playback.
    By the time he had positioned himself, the record started to recall
    all the sessions his son and his bandmates had for the two and a half
    years they had been together.
    Ahhh... cattle roadkill.
    He went right back into his work.
    The Grand Opening of Kuonji's Okonomiyaki was an auspicious event,
    and started very much with a bang. Unfortunately, it was a dud.
    Daisuke and Tsubasa had actually creaked the door open to reveal a
    very empty looking room. At the grill was Ukyo, wearing an okonomiyaki
    chef's wraparound, suspiciously fastened with a bandoleer replete with
    spatulas. She was also hefting the bigger spatula on her back.
    In reality, the other two were pretty surprised. When Ukyo said
    that she working here, they had thought that she was a waiter or
    something, not the cook. Leave it to say that playing on a rock band was
    enough practice for maintaining a look of ennui, even under extreme
    circumstances, e. g. your amp blows up into flames during a gig.
    She had a very bored look on her face when they entered, and it
    only slightly perked up as they entered.
    Tsubasa was partly glad that Hiroshi wasn't with them, because he
    would most likely say, "cool party!" then grin like a hyena and Ukyo
    would have to beat the stuffing out of him again. He was sure that
    Daisuke wouldn't say a thing like that, and neither would he.
    Instead, what he did say was, "we're here!"
    There's nothing like stating the obvious to strike a cynical chord
    in anyone's heart. "Which should explain why no one else is," Ukyo
    quipped, wearing a lopsided grin.
    Daisuke joined in, "well, I remember taking a bath today. How
    about you, MISS Kurenai?"
    Calling Tsubasa a miss triggered a running gag the trio had.
    Immediately, the brown-haired boy took on a catty "lover's look", and
    purred, "but, Daisuke, don't you remember?" He went in for the kill.
    "We took your bath at the same time," he emphasized the last phrase.
    Normally, at this point, Ukyo would have just booted them out for
    being such massive perverts, but she needed the laughs. They were, after
    all, just boys, anyway. She opened her mouth, and stuck the tip of her
    forefinger in. "Gross," she commented.
    Daisuke could help but laugh. Tsubasa, all sang-froid and all man,
    turned on Ukyo, "what? You don't think I'd make a good girlfriend?"
    Ukyo sat up, "well, I wouldn't mind having you as my girlfriend."
    She winked at him, "you're cute."
    It was Tsubasa's turn to look shocked. He complied. Daisuke just
    continued laughing. Ukyo took a look at Tsubasa, and joined in.
    Only then did Tsubasa complete the trio.
    Ukyo stood to sigh. "Oh, well, you guys have worked hard for your
    meal, so I might as well start on it."
    Grateful, the two uniformed students sat.
    Hiroshi woke up. "Uuuuuuuungh," he drawled.
    His mother came in. "Hiroshi?"
    "Yeah, mom." Ow. Where'd this bump come from?
    She was starting to come into focus. "I talked to your friends
    from the band."
    "Yeah?" He felt his face, and saw that he had a few bandages.
    "They told me that you were pestering the sister of one of your
    classmates again." She pushed him down on the bed, and placed a wet
    cloth on his forehead.
    "Ummmmmmm..." Did he? He wasn't really sure...
    "What did I tell you about that?" She chucked a thermometer into
    his mouth.
    "Uhhhhhh..." What did she say?
    She removed the cloth, and dipped it into a basin. "If you're
    going to chase a girl, never let her older brother know about it."
    They watched her oil the griddle, and put the batter on.
    They watched her put the sauce on it.
    They watched her put some vegetables on it.
    They watched it simmer.
    In other words, they were drooling.
    "I bet you don't know how to cook," started Tsubasa.
    Daisuke turned with deliberation. "I do, too." He mimed opening a
    small container and pouring something in it.
    Tsubasa nodded. "The concept of instant noodles is the pinnacle of
    human achievement."
    "'Amen," the two men said. They touched mugs, and sipped their
    water.
    "Lucky me," muttered the chef. "Instant mommies."
    "Uh, guys," Ukyo said, aloud. They turned. "The okonomiyaki are
    done," she flourished.
    Their noses pointed downward.
    They inhaled.
    Nothing quite like it.
    "Do you guys like inhaling your okonomiyaki," noted the cook, "or
    eating it?"
    "Don't rush me," Daisuke said, "I'm a gourmet."
    "Do tell" was all of Ukyo's comment.
    "One can tell a lot about the chef from the cuisine," Daisuke
    explained. "The most obvious differences are detectable from cooks of
    opposite gender, of course."
    Ukyo, who was making her own okonomiyaki, "urk"ed. Good martial
    artists always "urk" inconspicuously, thus are usually not noticed.
    Tsubasa was about to dig in to his okonomiyaki, but only hit china
    with his "fast ones".
    Hiroshi placed the dish on his dish, atop his own. "See? The
    first thing you can note is the garnish."
    Ukyo closed in on the foodstuff being interrogated, wishing that it
    wouldn't say anything damning. "Yes?"
    Tsubasa, noting that his chopsticks tasted like... well,
    chopsticks, said, "Hey!"
    "The way that the garnish in on the center," Daisuke continued,
    "shows a sign of stability, and focus, typical of females."
    Ukyo gulped once more. Gulping is another thing that martial
    artists can do inconspicuously.
    Tsubasa noticed that the okonomiyaki that Ukyo was cooking was
    already starting to get crispy (read: very, very crispy) around the
    edges. "Hey!" he said, as he took the concoction with his chopsticks
    onto his plate. Drummers must also have the ability to say "Hey!"
    inconspicuously, because he wasn't noticed that time, either.
    (This doesn't apply, of course, to guitarists forced to play drums.
    Infinite bullets, infinite monkees, and all that.)
    "Also," Daisuke was warming up, "the way that the sauce is evenly
    spread..."
    "... yes?" Ukyo was on a nerve's edge.
    "... is a sign of a conscientious person," Daisuke remarked.
    Tsubasa was busy picking up the odds and ends that were so
    conscientiously placed on the okonomiyaki that didn't stay on when he
    pulled it hot off the grill.
    "So?"
    Daisuke was on a roll. "But the way that is spread with concentric
    sweeps, instead of lazy, wide sweeps... that means control. Something
    someone with discipline would have, like a martial artist."
    Ukyo was about to open her mouth to elaborate on the point, but
    Daisuke added, "or females, who have more patience than men do."
    Tsubasa had finished replacing the entrails of the okonomiyaki, and
    showed it to Ukyo. She inclined her head at him, and proceeded to eat it
    demurely, never quite missing Daisuke's lecture, but infinitely happier
    to have something to focus her nervousness on. Crunch, crunch.
    Daisuke was saying, "finally, there's the thickness of the dish
    itself." He tilted his head, and lay it along a side parallel to the
    table. This prompted Ukyo to do the same, from the other side of the
    plate.
    Ukyo ventured, "the way that it's so consistent along the width is
    significant enough to attest to not only the firmness of the chef, but
    possibly his or her sincerity?"
    Daisuke nodded. "Exactly what I would have said. Also implies the
    consistency of the okonomiyaki itself: no doubt, techniques of the
    weaker sex."
    Ukyo straightened. Daisuke looked her straight in the eye. "And,
    since you were the one who made this fine meal, right before our very
    eyes..."
    Tsubasa was only starting to be interested in the conversation,
    after having retrieved his "pizza pancake", which just sauntered out of
    interrogation.
    Daisuke stared deep into Ukyo's brown eyes. "Which means..."
    Ukyo stared back, body tense. "Which means..."
    Tsubasa stared at the two classmates, who were staring each other
    down. "Which means...?"
    Daisuke stood and pointed his forefinger accusingly at Ukyo.
    "Which could only mean that you, Ukyo Kuonji..."
    The artificially spliced silence was tense, so tense that a breeze
    could not enter.
    Daisuke firmly said, "... were taught to cook by your MOTHER!" He
    cackled insanely. Ukyo did a facefault, but not into the grill.
    Tsubasa clacked his chopsticks on the rim of his mug. "So are we
    going to eat or what?" He started regardless.
    Hiroshi requested to rest up in the waiting room. This was because
    a) the fluffiest futon in the house was there, under the dining table,
    and b) the TV was in the same room. He packed up some manga, and an
    anime tape or two (to pop into the VCR if no one was there: "Miyuki-chan
    in Wonderland", and some "La Blue Girl").
    Unfortunately, there were some other fixtures he hadn't considered
    to be in the room. For example, c) the pitcher of juice his mother had
    prepared for him (which wasn't in the fridge when he checked) and d) his
    younger sister (who had taken the said pitcher, when he peeked into the
    room).
    His sister was watching some sort of made-for-TV movie on cable:
    the language was English. There was this very shorthaired African-
    American who was talking to someone off-screen.
    "I can't be Robert, dad," the TV said, "I can only be Jake."
    "Soaps," he muttered, disgusted. He went to get something in the
    kitchen, stopping only when he heard some song on TV.
    The beat was OK, but as soon as he turned, it ended. "Fickle-
    minded women," he muttered, and went on his way.
    His sister was laughing. "I love that commercial!" The TV
    returned to a show featuring a show of a Caucasian and an African-
    American sharing a high-handed finger shake and shouting "Switch!"
    "That," Daisuke said, "was good."
    "Some gourmet you are," Tsubasa noted. That was right before an
    opinion that formed from the pit of his stomach evolved itself.
    He belched.
    "Ugh," Daisuke and Ukyo demonstrated, waving their hands to shove
    the air back to its source.
    "Sowwy," Tsubasa said. "But, really, it's good. Why, I wouldn't
    mind eating this for the rest of my life."
    Ukyo stopped waving her hands, thus getting for herself a whiff of
    biochemical by-products. She gave a cough.
    "Tsubasa," Daisuke said. "Surely you're not planning to..."
    "Ask for the hand of my dear, dear Ukyo?" He switched to his girl-
    mode again. "Surely you wouldn't think that I would let such a strong,
    handsome, and independent entrepreneur escape my clutches?"
    Ukyo was burning by degrees. "You..." She held a fist to her chin
    in embarrassment. "You're... you're just saying that."
    Tsubasa faced her and put on the cutest face he had. "But it's
    TRUE!"
    Daisuke clasped Tsubasa's shoulder, unaware of Ukyo's dilemma.
    "Okay, down, girl. I'm sure that your plan to get Ukyo to give us free
    take home is working, will you please stop?"
    Tsubasa blink-blinked. "What plan?"
    Daisuke kept his grin, and sweated.
    Ukyo saw the door with the exit sign on it, and ran through it.
    "Take home? Sure, heck, I've got a whole chockfull of ingredients for
    today... I'll cook you guys up a batch to give to your friends and
    family..." In a blur, she whipped up all the ingredients she needed.
    There were six okonomiyaki on the grill, and Ukyo was busying
    herself with them. Daisuke and Tsubasa shared both surprise and glee,
    and sat themselves down.
    Daisuke eyed the chef. "I hope these aren't being cooked because
    you wanted us to leave already."
    Darn tootin'. "NO! Uh, no" was what Ukyo replied, instead, as she
    prepped the pastries up into delivery boxes. "Here you go, have a nice
    day," whence she commenced pushing them outside the door.
    As soon as the bandmates were out of the restaurant, Daisuke
    sniffed, "was it something I said?"
    Good news travels fast. (Bad news travels faster; hence, the
    statement: "You broke up with your girlfriend? Never knew you had one."
    and the like.) In that case, Ukyo's okonomiyaki was very good news.
    Apparently, people were actually willing enough to give okonomiyaki
    a shot, along with shops that specialized in serving okonomiyaki. By the
    same law, this news went back to Ukyo really fast, in the form of tens to
    twenties of customers. She began to wonder how many friends and family
    Daisuke and Tsubasa actually had.
    The second good thing came when Tsubasa's trio suggested that Ukyo
    put up a stage for live band performances. This was mostly because these
    friends that were initially introduced to fine cuisine were mostly
    members of the music club. (Besides, she had had enough with the table
    banging.)
    So the music club loaned Kuonji's Okonomiyaki a set of drums, and
    an amp, and gave her a schedule for live performances, which Ukyo had
    okayed. This good news also traveled fast, after a few such months, Ukyo
    started to get into the groove of maintaining a bustling restaurant
    business.
    Such a set of dialog would therefore be normal for a Tuesday at the
    Okonomiyaki Hut:
    "As God is my witness, I'll never eat turnip again!"
    "That good, eh, Mr. Trump?"
    "Erika!"
    "... and I ordered a big breakfast..."
    "Band's great, huh?"
    "When are they going to sing in Japanese?"
    "Alexis!"
    "I'm a cowboy... (he's a cowboy...)"
    "That's two orders of yakisoba, and two cups tea."
    "Right up!"
    "I hear that 'Seito Hentai' is playing on Saturdays."
    "Richard!"
    "... that's a trend, foreign dance songs being popular."
    "That's 'SENtai'! Not 'Hentai'!"
    "Seventh of September... remember when, we met at the shrine..."
    "Annie!"
    "... hear that the drummer's the son of that artist, Kurenai..."
    "Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!"
    "No kiddin'? That's why they like dressing up an' doin' weird
    things..."
    "Hey, you SURE you don't have a cute sister?"
    *WHAP*
    "Not again, Hiroshi!"
    Of course, this was interspersed with the inanities of academic
    life.
    Tsubasa was using his girl-voice, with the Dynamic Duo, banging
    away at the back.
    "Funny," Shun was whispering to Haruka, "I thought they didn't do
    dance songs."
    "Funny," Haruka whispered back to Shun, "I thought they didn't do
    girl bands."
    "Funny," Ukyo whispered to no one in particular, "that you guys can
    whisper to each other while you're two seats apart."
    "... and so, the so-called cult of the Muscle Sword can exist as an
    extension of Taoist break-off factions, only if they somehow came across
    some warrior-class society, like the Amazons of China or the fabled Musk
    Dynasty, during its formative stages. Now," said their teacher, who was
    wearing a pair of shades and some khaki pants, "if you," he pointed to an
    arbitrarily nameless student to a side, "if you had the power of
    shapeshifting, via any means like lycanthropy, vampiric prowess, bodies
    of water that can change a person's form, or magic, what would you change
    into?"
    "A girl," the nameless student said, without batting an eye.
    "How predictable," the teacher said. He pointed to another
    faceless student. "How about you?"
    "A goddess." Obviously, he was trying to be goofy.
    "Ugh, same thing," said the instructor. He didn't even bother with
    Moe, Larry and Curly at the back. He pointed to Ukyo, "and you, would
    you want to turn into a girl?"
    "Me? A girl?" Ukyo slammed her hand onto her desk, shocking the
    two beside her. "Never!"
    "Sorry I asked," said their instructor, fishing inside a pocket for
    a small notebook. "Note: Mr. Kuonji would NEVER want to be a girl. Got
    it."
    Nonetheless, Saturdays were always fun days. Nights. Whatever.
    "Please, guys," Tsubasa was trying to work on pity. Last week was
    a show of force; the week before was attacks of character. "Can't I
    wear the uniform this time?"
    "Not this week, Wings." Daisuke gestured for Hiroshi to zip him
    up. "We're all going in drag today."
    "Not 'in drag', Daisuke," Hiroshi was zipped up already, "that
    means including make-up. This is just cross-dressing."
    "Cross-dressing, drag, whatever," Shun was ranting, "why do I have
    to do this?"
    "Because you thought you could bluff with a pair of fives," said
    Tsubasa matter-of-factly.
    Ukyo came in and said, "OK, guys, you're on!"
    Hiroshi brought them into a huddle. "Okay, men," he showed his
    right arm, done simultaneously with the other two. "Synchronize
    watches."
    "Check," said the other two.
    "Showtime," said Hiroshi, as he jumped out of the room.
    Hiroshi tested his microphone. Shun had to be pulled the way there
    by Tsubasa, "I don't want to do this!"
    Tsubasa started, "neither do I." He tossed a wink to Ukyo, who
    blanched. He nudged Shun to the front of the stage, and whispered,
    "start dancing!" He then bounded to his seat behind the drum set.
    "Good evening, patrons of Kuonji's Okonomiyaki. We're Seito
    Sentai," some applause, "and our first song is a ditty we made just for
    you. The title is 'Chicken Joy', and we'd like you to see the dance we
    added to it."
    Without further ado, he started on the intro riff. Shun was moving
    his arms alternately parallel to his chest, with his forefingers
    extended.
    "Whoo! Go Shun!" some of the people were shouting. On the other
    hand, Ukyo felt the need to change her menu. Chicken, eh...
    The band played on, long into the early evening.
    Later, Ukyo was locking up the shop, after another fruitful and
    profitable Saturday evening. She had had a very stressful day, and when
    that happened...
    "*hic*!" She closed her mouth, and hoped that she had not
    attracted anybody's attention. By now, the neighborhood was aware that
    the "Kuonji" who was the proprietor was young, pre-pubescent Ukyo, and
    they wouldn't really understand if a girl of approximately the same age
    as the said Kuonji, appropriately already into puberty, was the one
    closing shop.
    That was exactly who was closing shop, and the reason was "parental
    guidance".
    Nothing relaxed Ukyo better than a hot bath. Actually, a hot soak
    in a hot tub. Unfortunately, her father knew that all too well. And he
    was the one who got the apartment for her.
    So here she was, on the way to the public baths, as a woman, so
    that she can take a soothing bath, hiccuping every so often.
    Now, one might wonder what was so much of a problem of hiccuping
    for a martial artist. The fact that she was, in fact, hiccuping must
    imply that there is a problem: she has no control over the bodily
    functions involved. In fact, she would normally have to wait it out.
    Imagine having to surprise a martial artist. So, she opted to relax
    herself.
    In any case, she was already on the way there when someone tried to
    figure why it was so hard to surprise a martial artist.
    Ukyo felt someone grab her shoulder.
    "WAAAAHHHHH!!!" was all she was able to say, before she took the
    sign just outside the door and throttled whoever it was behind her.
    "Ex-" was all the significant other was able to say. After which,
    he made contact with the ground using his noggin, and did not look that
    significant anymore.
    Ukyo just realized the mistake when she took the sign off from the
    head of the "attacker". "Eh?" said she, shaking her head.
    At least, she wasn't hiccuping for about ten seconds. After which
    she wheezed a lot.
    Mr. Kurenai stuck his head out of the studio for a moment.
    "Where's Tsubasa?"
    "He went back to get some dresses of mine that he and his friends
    forgot at that disco they're always at. He'll be back soon, so don't
    'pop a tape in the stereo' and wait for him HERE."
    "Sure, luv." He pulled on his earphones.
    A while on the floor, between the sheets, Tsubasa woke up groggy.
    Where? He didn't know.
    The world was really bobbing; an ice pack on his noggin. Why? He
    didn't know.
    "'Round here," he tried to stand up straight.
    "'Round here, something radiates..."
    Ukyo came from outside with a suitcase in her hand. She said, "YOU
    LEFT THESE HERE A WHILE AGO."
    "Ouch," he said, closing his ears and shaking his head, clearing
    the song from it. He fell on his butt.
    "Whoa, boy." Ukyo left the suitcase, and eased Tsubasa back into
    the mattress he was sleeping in.
    "Wha-what happenn?"
    She had a small rehearsal before a mirror. "I don't know. I saw
    you in a heap outside." She licked her lips. "Tell me what you can
    remember."
    "The capital of Brazil is Brazilia, the cheetah is the fastest land
    animal, Splinter named his students after Renaissance artists and Washu
    is the greatest mad scientist of all time?"
    "Nice to see he didn't steal you're sense of humor," she
    deadpanned.
    "He... she wasn't a he."
    Uh-oh.
    "To answer your unspoken question," he sat up, an effort, "yes, I
    was beat up by a girl. Womyn. Girl."
    It took time to respond. "You... you saw who..."
    "I stared into her face..." He zoned slightly. "... into the
    deepest brown eyes..."
    She put on the most lopsided smirk she had. "Hey, hey... she stole
    your HEART, then..."
    "Oh, come off it. How sappy do I sound to... oh." He noticed.
    "THAT sappy."
    Tsubasa looked at Ukyo. She put on a sheepish grin. She began to
    tug at her ribbon, holding her hair.
    *hic*
    "You know..." Tsubasa stared at Ukyo, "... your eyes are dark
    brown, too."
    *hic*
    "And, and she had wonderful, long brown hair... like yours..."
    She let go of the ribbon. The ribbon let go of her.
    *hic* *hic*
    Tsubasa's eyes widened, looking at his companion in a new light.
    *hic* *hic* *hic*
    "My God... you DO have a sister..."
    *BONK*
    "... it echoed deep within our hearts..."
    "I knew I didn't put that in... what a cheesy line."
    *KRRRIIIINGGG!*
    *k-clik*
    "Hello... yes, this is Tsubasa's mother. No, I don't think we've
    met. Nasty sounding hiccups, dear. I hear swallowing a tablespoon of
    sugar works. Oh, staying there overnight, eh? Had a bad fall? Oh,
    dear... I'll be over in the morning then. Good night."
    Mrs. Kurenai returned to watching the TV.
    "Oh, good... my favorite part. The dragonfly. No one could ever
    get that one."
    "I can offer you lies; I can tell you good-bye. I
    can tell you I'm sorry, but I can't tell the truth, dear."
    - Barenaked Ladies, "Shoebox"
    from the OST of the series "Friends"
    and the album "Born on a Pirate Ship"
    The next Monday, the whole world was shocked by a revelation.
    "You... you're wearing glasses."
    Daisuke tilted them up the bridge of his nose. "How? How can you
    tell that it's me? I made ways to thoroughly confound you all, and
    yet..."
    Hiroshi suddenly put a hand to shield his eyes. "Where? Where,
    Tsubasa?"
    Tsubasa put on a pout as Ukyo entered the room. As usual, the trio
    had been there early. "Funny, I thought this guy... well, I must be
    mistaken."
    Haruka, who finally got piqued, was saying, "but, isn't THAT...?"
    until Ukyo held her arm and gave her a stilling look.
    Daisuke slipped off the glasses, and waved to his bandmates. "Hey,
    you guys!"
    Tsubasa said, "hey, Daisuke! Where've you been?"
    Hiroshi added, "have you been hiding all this time?"
    Daisuke slyly said, "maybe."
    Haruka let go of a breath. "Oh."
    Ukyo just nodded.
    Just at that moment, their teacher came in. He looked like he'd
    seen better days: he had bloodshot eyes, obvious without his glasses,
    and had beard stubble showing.
    Hiroshi, who would have done better to keep quiet, saw him and
    grinned like a mad hyena. "Look!" He pointed at their instructor.
    Since he was the closest, only he was able to notice the state of
    dishevelment; the others weren't. "A bird?"
    Daisuke actually had his back toward the board. "A plane?" Then
    he turned.
    The teacher's look stayed on them.
    "No. It's 'Standing in the Hall.' Now, git. Bucket's at the
    custodian's."
    "I know!"
    "What?"
    "A name for a band."
    "We've already got a name."
    "'Bad Hair Day'."
    *crash!* *BOOM!* *bang!*
    "'Roxette'?"
    More violent noises.
    Understandably, they weren't at Ukyo's that day. Haruka and Shun
    were, though.
    "Definitely." Haruka sipped on her tea. "Ever since he spent the
    summer at his uncle's apartment, he's definitely gotten weirder."
    "With Hiroshi already as goofball as he is," Ukyo remarked,
    "Tsubasa's tenuous grip on the band's sanity weakens anew."
    "Tsubasa? Sane? He was the one who came up with the cross-
    dressing, mind you," Shun quipped, in between bites.
    Haruka remarked, "you're just jealous because he looks better in a
    dress than you do."
    "You don't say..." Ukyo said idly. Shun, who finished off his
    platter of special okonomiyaki, just harrumphed.
    Haruka took a moment to look at Ukyo's thoughtful expression. She
    did some calculations and came up with an almost startling result.
    "Ukyo," she started, "I have an idea."
    "Huh?"
    "A little business suggestion... if I may," she said mischievously.
    Extra homework was always done at Hiroshi's place. His mother was
    a teacher, and he had a cute sister.
    "Daisuke!" Hiroshi grated, "if you don't stop ogling my sister, we
    will have to study in my room..."
    That, of course, was a threat. Hiroshi's room was pretty much like
    a dragon's lair: lots of things to catch your eye, and no easy way out.
    Litterally.
    "Don't fret, bro," said the object of Daisuke's attentions,
    standing up, "I'll leave you BIG BOYS alone." She winked at Tsubasa,
    whose mind was obviously somewhere else.
    "Hmph," muttered Daisuke. Girls like girl-like.
    Hiroshi did a sequence of mid-problem exercises: look, listen,
    stop. He stood up, then stretched. Then, he quit. "Okay, kiddies.
    Time for a study break."
    "I'm cool with it," Daisuke assented, pushing the notebook away.
    "Uh-huh" was all Tsubasa said.
    Hiroshi and Daisuke were smart enough to let enough alone. Of
    course, once out of earshot, it was a different matter.
    "What's with drummer-boy?" Hiroshi inquired, while opening the
    fridge.
    "My guess is," Daisuke ventured, opening the junk food cupboard,
    "that he's grounded."
    "Grounded?" Hiroshi confirmed, retrieving a can of peaches, and a
    pitcher of water, and put them on a table in the center of the room.
    "Yup." Daisuke nodded, scrounging through some aluminum packs.
    "Hey! 'Munchies'!" He held up a pack emblazoned with the said name
    depicting somewhat thick, somewhat wide and somewhat wavy (yet crunchy)
    orange tidbits. "Last I saw these, I was still in grade school."
    "Me, too. Check the expiry date." Hiroshi set out a bowl and
    poured in the peaches plus soup.
    "These are no good, then." Daisuke discarded the bag of chips and
    hefted his own cargo to the table.
    "How'd you figure?" A tray, three other bowls.
    "It says best consumed before Halley's Comet comes." Packs
    opening, segregated by chip type.
    "No, about Tsubasa." Three glasses.
    "Oh, heard it through the grapevine." Some ice; it wasn't a very
    cool day.
    "Heard WHAT through the grapevine? And here I thought we were
    friends."
    "Well," Daisuke started, sitting, "he spent the night at Ukyo's and
    tried to hit on Ukyo's sister or something, and... it got rough."
    "Well," Hiroshi commented, "I knew that was coming."
    "If I had an idea that this was coming," Ukyo predicted, "I would
    have worn my rubber shoes."
    "You and me both," Haruka bemoaned.
    Of course, that was exactly the reason the principal's announcement
    came as a surprise. It was just "all seniors must join a varsity"
    without preamble. Their Asian Myth teacher just grumbled.
    Several lines were already formed near the gym. "Yoo-hoo!" Haruka
    waved to a confused looking Shun.
    Shun closed the gap. "I thought I'd lost you two. Follow me!"
    "Wait a minute." Ukyo pointed to a shortish line to her right.
    "The volleyball line is over here."
    "Volleyball?" Shun goggled a bit at the temptingly short lines
    marking all of Volleyball, Social Dance and Aerobics, but clamped his
    will on it and shook his head. He pointed and turned to a rather crowded
    portion of the room. "But the others are there." He reoriented his
    forefinger approximately near the center of one of the longer lines,
    where Hiroshi was.
    "Is that the Wrestling team?" Haruka pondered the sizes of the
    applicants.
    "Soccer. Football, if you're British. See you then." Shun wove
    his way back to the line.
    "Tell me again," Tsubasa wanted to know, "why we're joining the
    soccer team."
    "Can't you imagine," Hiroshi was practically bubbling over with
    excitement, "a whole soccer team played by members of the music club? We
    will conquer them using superior rhythm and tactics!"
    "Actually," Daisuke clarified, "the soccer varsity has the lightest
    schedule for training."
    "That's right," said Shun, who just rejoined them. "The only other
    team that poses a threat to the varsity in the prefecture is St. Rino's."
    "That co-ed school? Since when?" Daisuke wondered.
    "Since they beat the perennial winner of their district..." Shun
    was at a loss.
    "Oh," Hiroshi interrupted, "but they usually won by default, and
    after disabling the other team."
    "How unsportsmanly," Tsubasa noted.
    "What's that they're posting?"
    A poster. In fact, one that said "Soccer Tryouts: 4 PM".
    "Bummer," Hiroshi summarized, "no jammin' today."
    Mr. Kurenai, lazing about.
    *KRRRIIIINGGG!*
    *k-clik*
    "'llo? Oh, Tsubasa. What's that? Sucker dried out? Not having
    dinner here, eh? Okay. Tell your mum? Maybe, maybe not. See later."
    *k-clik*
    "Gawd, I hated that session."
    "You," Haruka emphasized, "have got a mean spike, y'know that?"
    "Thank you." Ukyo reaffixed her hair with her ribbon. "You don't
    do bad, yourself."
    "Natch. Of course, if they just had a decent martial arts varsity,
    or a kendo club at least, then I would have insisted on getting in."
    "Hmm... maybe I should start an okonomiyaki-do class..."
    "You? Teach... what's that? Some sort of fast food cooking?"
    Ukyo furrowed her brow. "Martial arts, silly. Actually, I already
    demonstrated a few moves." She got her omnipresent kick-ass spatula, and
    proceeded to sweep the air some.
    Haruka went blank for a while; then, "ah. When you bonked
    Hiroshi."
    "Well... yeah." She wasn't really satisfied with the put-down.
    "So... that thing's... martial arts?" Haruka pointed at the
    revealed weaponry.
    "Yes! It's a serious martial art!" Ukyo looked unplacable.
    "Jeez! Okay!" Haruka put her hands up in supplication. "Gosh,
    you're so sensitive," she said teasingly.
    "Sorry" was the reply.
    "I mean... I admit, I haven't heard of it before. And I'm pretty
    much an enthusiast. Who taught you?"
    "My father did, partly."
    "And he learned it...?"
    "From his father."
    "And when you marry...?"
    "My son will learn it. Or my daughter."
    "And you're gonna teach it to somebody else?" She had this
    heavens-forbid expression.
    Ukyo looked up, sheepish. "Well, maybe not."
    "See?" Haruka looked for the time. "Quick! Let's go get to the
    field."
    "Why are you joining?" asked the bulky soccer coach.
    "Because of the free time," Hiroshi said gamely.
    Tsubasa and Daisuke just sweated.
    "Laudable cause," replied the coach. He pointed to a varsity
    member halfway across the field. "The goal is simple: get the ball back
    to him. Remember, no hands." He signaled the player. "Go!" He shoved
    Hiroshi forward.
    The player was running toward the ball. Kicking it so that it
    would gain some shin-height, it hit Hiroshi from the front. "Ow!" He
    eyed the miscreant ball angrily. "You... stupid...!" He whacked it
    strong enough to get it back with some momentum.
    "Need to work on that stop. Next!" Daisuke stepped up.
    "Okay, what's your excuse?"
    "It would be better for me to provide my talents where they could
    be appreciated," said Daisuke glibly.
    "Appreciated, eh?" His accomplice signaled readiness. "Well,
    you've seen the drill." He relayed an okay. "Go!"
    Daisuke did reasonably better, stopping and kicking with
    competence. Tsubasa was next.
    "Okay, girly boy, ready for abuse?" The coach sneered.
    Tsubasa had had enough of it a while back. "Well, I better come in
    kicking, sir," followed Tsubasa in a girly voice. He jogged forward.
    The player, who wasn't ready yet, kicked the ball a little wobbly,
    and about waist-high.
    Tsubasa, whose years of practice on the drums did wonders to his
    strength and build, gave the ball a judgement, and met it with a mid-air
    kick.
    The player watched the ball sail above him.
    Tsubasa turned around to an aghast coach and said, "see you next
    practice, big man."
    Note that that would be a month from then. Yes, it does matter.
    They noticed the eerie lighting.
    "Wh-why is it so dark inside? They did invite us SPECIFICALLY."
    Hiroshi mock-shivered. "You don't think that Ukyo and Haruka are
    actually women in disguise, lying in wait with a marital trap, just like
    black widows?"
    Daisuke held a hand up, but Tsubasa beat him to the punch and
    bopped their lead. "Do you intentionally try to aggravate Ukyo?" He
    made a sort of *splat!* gesture with his two hands. "Talk like that
    gives us... well, our reputation."
    Hiroshi snorted. "First time he goes out in a suit in weeks, and
    we get talk like this." He clicked his tongue.
    "Not much of a suit, though," Shun noted, indicating the drummer's
    jeans-and-shirt ensemble. They all had one.
    "Hold," Daisuke indicated.
    "What in the- ?"
    They, of course, noticed the sign. The somber "Kuonji's
    Okonomiyaki" was replaced by a softer-looking (yet equally somber)
    "Ukyo's".
    "Amazing," Daisuke noted. "A reduction of seven characters makes
    for a huge change of mood. Curiouser, and curiouser."
    "Well," Shun said, not appreciating the tension, "apres vous."
    "Might as well." Hiroshi went in.
    This narration needs a break. Right now.
    To say that the change was drastic was to underestimate the
    situation. Where it used to feel cramped, there was this feeling of
    empty space. Whence there used to be freaky light shows, now there was
    only candlelight. And at the grill... or at least where the grill was
    supposed to be...
    Tsubasa gaped. It was her. She was smiling, and waving at him
    and...
    "Yo, Ukyo! Nice threads."
    Hiroshi pushed past him towards the girl, who seemed to look a lot
    like Ukyo.
    He blinked. He blink-blinked. Bugger the lighting.
    "Yeah. Would'a fooled me into thinking you were a professional,"
    he self-amended.
    She took the barb as lightly as it was given. She snapped her
    fingers and Haruka stepped in. They turned, back-to-back, and snapped
    their fingers, pointing at the males.
    "Whew. 'Men in black'. Definitely in fashion." Hiroshi clapped
    lightly.
    "Okay," Daisuke said, "which one had the lobotomy, and which one
    needed the change of pace?"
    She tossed a hand in her co-cross-dresser's direction. "Haruka's
    idea."
    Shun nudged Haruka. "If you'd have told us this was a black-tie
    affair, we could have managed better, y'know."
    Haruka nodded. "Hey, Ukyo deserves a break now and then, right?"
    Daisuke concluded, "there must be big money in race driving."
    "I guess so," Haruka shrugged.
    "We saved you seats close to the stage," Ukyo continued.
    "Why? What's there?" Shun went first.
    "A touch of culture," Ukyo said mysteriously, taking them to the
    table. "Now, shoo. Haruka and I have to fix some things up."
    They thanked Goodness for having kept the stage where it was. The
    lighting was diffused and light, but the stage was empty. Seating
    themselves, they tried to keep quiet. Honest. They tried.
    "Okay, okay. Here's mine." Shun produced a crane, and flapped its
    wings.
    "Too passe. Here's mine." Hiroshi produced a horse, making its
    feet shuffle.
    "That's all? Here's one." Daisuke produced a unicorn. It stood
    on its hind legs.
    "Hey, Garcon," Tsubasa called for a waiter. "More rubber bands."
    "Oh, yeah?" Shun said, rearranging his finger positions. He put
    it up. He said in a low sultry voice: "Georgia."
    Daisuke muttered, "what a lovely name... for a girl."
    Hiroshi took a look at the color and the shape. "The state, or the
    country?"
    Tsubasa looked at it, and said, "who cares?"
    Hiroshi rearranged his brown rubber bands. Then: "cabbit." Once
    he was sure that they were watching, he began to pull his hands further
    apart. "Spaceship."
    Daisuke took a look, then rearranging his white rubber bands, he
    went, "cabbit." Similarly pulling his hands apart, he continued,
    "spaceship." Then, suddenly orienting it horizontally against its
    counterpart, he removed the further hand, sending the rubber bands
    hurtling. "Phaser blasts."
    Hence started some rather messy rubber band barrages (complete with
    shouts of "Photon Torpedoes" and "Slingshot Effect"), which interfered
    with the very interesting games of Hangman being played by several other
    patrons. Ukyo had to go and discreetly bop each and every one of them.
    After which, they promised to be nice and listen to the band that came
    in.
    "Honey, did Tsubasa tell you what time he'd be home?"
    "Nope."
    "Remind me to ground him till he graduates college if he dares to
    come home past twelve."
    "Sure, hon."
    "And you're off the stereo until the next year."
    There were these four guys who were unloading four stringed
    instruments of different sizes. Four microphones set on stands were
    being set up on the stage. While the three others were affixing the
    microphones to the bodies of their cellos, violins or basses, one of them
    took a mike to speak.
    "Hello. We're T'ang Quartet, and this is our first performance in
    anything like this. Please... sit back, and let the music set in."
    Tsubasa, who felt as close to nodding off as he could possibly be,
    yawned openly, then looked to his classmates, knowing they'd find this
    classic orchestra a huge bore.
    Instead, Hiroshi and Daisuke were actually akin to being astounded.
    "Haven't seen them in a while," Hiroshi mouthed.
    "They were in America for a while, to study, I think," Daisuke
    said, not taking his eyes off the stage.
    They're obviously enjoying this, Tsubasa thought belatedly, also
    noticing that Shun had leaned forward to hear it better. That was when
    they started on a staccato violin riff, accompanied with classical cello-
    and-violin rhythm, and a rock sounding bass. It sounded... refreshing.
    "Mmmm... Mozart is the father of rock." Some appetizers were being
    served, and the mood was just perfect. Perfectly surreal.
    The meal went quickly enough, and soon the four had time to listen
    to the music. (Those who weren't really into rock or classical were
    luckily placed as far from the performers as needed; the worst cases of
    music and digestion not getting along are well-documented.) Having
    recovered long enough from their initial shock, Hiroshi and Daisuke had
    gone into their normal mode of discussion.
    "She did NOT sleep for 'ten thousand years'," Daisuke insisted.
    "If she said that she did, she DID," Hiroshi countered.
    "Wait. When did it first come out that she had?"
    "When she told...."
    "At the start. Then?"
    "Hmm... when Makoto told her, I guess."
    "Exactly. Any other time?"
    "Well... none that I can remember."
    Shun piped in. "Just like that watch in that old American movie,
    right? The one that the guy had, which came from the girl, which came
    from the guy..."
    Daisuke nodded. "Paradox."
    "B-But..." Hiroshi stuttered, uncomprehending. Luckily, the band
    started to play some very, very slow music.
    The two women were in Ukyo's room, with Ukyo pouting fiercely.
    "I don't want to wear make-up!"
    Haruka, who looked quite elegant in a modest blue dress, was
    starting to get frantic. "My dear, dear Ukyo: if you don't wear any,
    one of these idiots will figure out who you are."
    "And all those superheroes just need a new hairdo... or a costume.
    I've got both." Ukyo fidgeted in her seat.
    "Just think of it... as part of the costume." With that, Haruka
    got in, and finished the job.
    The would-be artist stepped back and judged her work. "You look
    fabulous. Now, stop pouting, and get your man."
    Ukyo blushed. Blushing was not something martial artists, even
    good ones, did inconspicuously. It actually made a "poof"-like sound.
    "He's not 'my man'." She did that circling ankle thing.
    "Oh, please. I wouldn't have even found you out if you weren't
    so..." She got stopped by a searing gaze.
    Ukyo stood. "He's not my man. He's just..." She waved her gloved
    hands in small circles. "Misguided."
    "Well, you CAN lead." Haruka shoved her through the door. "It IS
    the nineties. Too few good dancers out there."
    This narration is firm in its stand to be neutral in coloring its
    descriptions of any type of art form. Thus, when the T'ang Quartet
    played dance songs, they played music of waltz beat, with the tempo set
    to the relative speed of a clock when waiting for something.
    To wit, they knew it was a slow dance tune, and people began to
    slow dance to it.
    "Feh," Hiroshi said. "And me without a girl to dance with."
    "Don't be too sure," Daisuke chucked a thumb over his shoulder. A
    short-haired blond and a long-haired brunette were coming into view.
    "What I would do for freckles and red hair," Hiroshi commented, de-
    ruffling his hair.
    Haruka went on ahead and bodily took Shun from his slump. No
    sooner had Shun left the table when Ukyo appeared right next to Tsubasa.
    Her voice had a throaty quality. "I... we need to talk."
    Hiroshi straightened and said, in his patent-pending husky voice,
    "hey, groovy chick."
    Tsubasa stood, facing her. "Yeah. We do." Not quite hand in
    hand, they left the rest of the band.
    "Hey. Hey!" Hiroshi indignantly faced Daisuke. "She left! With
    him!" He gestured the departing pair.
    "So it would seem" was Daisuke's neutral response.
    "Ha... ha... ha-ha..."
    "What do you find so funny?" Haruka was getting angry, and trying
    to stifle it.
    "Ha-Haruka..." Shun finally got over the shock.
    Haruka had the sweat bead, the BIG eyes, the promise pose, the
    awkward hand, and the set teeth. Yup, she was surprised. "Wha-? How?"
    Shun placed a trembling finger on her lips. "You look even more
    fabulous with make-up on."
    Haruka blanched. "I knew I should have worn a wig," she muttered.
    Shun was turning ruddy, himself. He had a somewhat bemused look in
    his eyes, and he shook his head. "Don't be silly."
    Haruka, by sheer circumstance, was caught off-balance by people
    making their way to the floor, and fell forward, catching, in turn,
    Shun's arms.
    He looked to her, and politely indicated the flow of people.
    "Shall we dance?"
    Ukyo wasn't really sure where they could have their "talk".
    They couldn't just stand where they were: it would be like she was
    announcing their predicament to the world. (Besides, there were people
    watching the band, which they were in front of.)
    She couldn't go to the area behind the grill: it would be better
    to tell him "I'm Ukyo, you fool; oh, yeah, Haruka's not here because
    she's that girl over there". At least, she'd be sure that he knew. All
    of it, or no clues, not even subtle ones.
    So they went with the flow.
    They weren't able to stay in one place until they were within the
    confines of the dance floor. Of course, they couldn't just talk there;
    wordlessly, they held each other, swaying to the soulful, mourning
    string.
    If she was asked, she would have never been able to tell a soul why
    she danced like she did with him: slow, effortless, head lain on his
    shoulder. Maybe, for that moment in time, she never existed. That it
    was a moment skewered, not connected to the past, not possessing a
    future.
    Whatever enchantment was cast, she shrugged it off at the end of
    the wordless song. Forcing herself to look him in the eye, she started,
    "I..."
    "I love you."
    She blinked.
    He blinked.
    They turned to overhear more from a couple to one side. "I've
    loved you since I met you."
    "Oh, Mr. Noodle," the shoulder-length haired woman said.
    They moved off from that couple soon enough.
    Once they were sure that they were out of earshot, she tried again.
    "I... I..."
    "I'm pregnant."
    That one actually made Tsubasa jump a bit, when a male voice
    answered the announcement. "Well, Kanrinin-san, more tenants in your
    house?"
    "Don't call me, that," the woman said, softly. "It makes me
    feel... old."
    Ukyo had had enough. She took Tsubasa in hand, and got out of that
    one.
    By the time that Haruka was able to set her sights on Ukyo, she was
    on the way out, in a rush. "Way to go, girl!" She grinned in a feral
    manner, slightly scaring Shun. Wouldn't want to step on HER toes.
    "Hmm..." Daisuke muttered. "Maybe some more drinks."
    "Oh, c'mon! Answer the question!" Hiroshi was insistent.
    "... Yaobikuni." Daisuke said, as calmly as he could.
    "Damn!"
    "'Eight-hundred-year nun'? Surely you couldn't have expected me to
    forget that?" Daisuke stifled a smirk, and called a waiter. He noticed
    Tsubasa sneaking out with that brunette, but kept it from his histrionic-
    prone bandmate.
    "My turn, right?" He gratefully received a few glasses. "Ok...
    from the same manga: by the time they met the immortal Itto-ryu
    swordsman, how many 'bad men' had Manji said he killed?"
    "Hmm... toughie." Hiroshi started to count on his fingers.
    She closed the door.
    Nighttime in the district was regularly cold, being as it was a
    beach-lined city. But it was edging toward the winter. Ukyo started
    shivering.
    Tsubasa was shivering as well. It was cold enough that his breath
    was fogging. Deep inside, he was straightening.
    He knew, beyond a doubt that his mystery girl was going to leave
    him, tonight, never to return. He had to stop her...
    ... and he had this one chance, this last chance. He had to show
    her who he was, all of it, and hoped that it was enough to stop her.
    He gripped her hand, indicating that she follow, and went into the
    foggy night.
    "... twenty. I'm sure of it."
    "Nope."
    "Twenty-one."
    "You're forgetting something."
    "Hmm... fifty."
    *sigh* "You're hopeless."
    Ukyo tried to keep track of the path they took, but the twists and
    turns sometimes were confusing (and often illogical) and tended to blend
    between themselves. She only hoped that Tsubasa wasn't going anywhere
    too far. A bit later, she began to wonder whether or not that was a good
    idea. After all, he might be a pervert... or worse yet, the man of her
    dreams.
    At the start he was worried that the turns they were taking were
    too much for his companion, but she was taking them as easily (maybe even
    more so) that he did. So he upped their pace, and arrived there much
    sooner.
    They reached a clearing, and slowed. He looked for a tree hanging
    over a lamppost. Scampering up the tree, he reached the limb that hung
    just above the light.
    It was low enough, so he proffered a hand to Ukyo. Doing a martial
    artist's leap, she soared through the leaves, and fell gracefully on the
    limb.
    Tsubasa stared at the top of the post, leaning forward. Ukyo
    wasn't quite sure what this all meant, but if this little rendezvous,
    romantic as it was, were to end in some very cheap feels, he would end
    the day very, very sore.
    "Look. I know who you are, and I know why you're trying to hide."
    Somehow, she wasn't really sure that it was supposed to surprise
    her. Even if he knew who she really was, she had to explain. She...
    needed to.
    He glanced over to her, and said. "You're Ukyo's sister, right? I
    heard it through the grapevine." He turned back to the post. "It's
    obvious that Ukyo doesn't trust me with you."
    So he didn't. She sighed, a little disappointed.
    "Maybe it's because of the me he knows, from school. Or the me on
    the band. God, I'd hope not. He probably thinks that I'm some sort of
    drug-addled, band-tripping, head-banging, hedonistic, cross-dressing
    pervert." He took a breath. "I'm not." He looked sheepish. "At least
    not the drug-addled part."
    She didn't move, entranced by the evenness of his voice. "My
    family is kind of weird. We're all sort of artists, by trade. And we're
    all pretty much... along... with each other." He sounded less calm.
    "But, there are times when... you know, you just have to be alone. To do
    things that only you would want.
    "My father would bring me to this park," he reminisced, "when I was
    about eight. We'd do nothing but enjoy the quietness of the place. The
    aloneness."
    "After a while, he'd bring me here, then go home, without bringing
    me back. I guess he just wanted to get a rise out of my mom. I wouldn't
    go home, though, until it was late, and I had to. Guess my pop knew me
    well enough."
    "Later, I'd keep going back here, because this park was so deserted
    most of the time. And I'd have some quiet time alone."
    Ukyo said softly, "you can never be alone, with friends like
    Hiroshi, Daisuke, Shun..."
    He probably wasn't aware that she had talked; he was aware that
    something was being said, though. "But that's the most important part of
    a place like this: you can be alone. When you need to."
    There was a silence.
    "For most part, do you know what I thought about when I was alone?"
    Ukyo's part: she knew. Too well.
    "I thought about being alone. About how I wouldn't want to be
    alone forever."
    He turned to her. But she had already set her mind. "I... I want
    you..."
    "... but..." He couldn't help but feel pessimistic.
    She shook her head. "I want you... to be happy... but without
    me..."
    "Why?"
    "I'm not who you know I am." How did it become so hot? (A breeze
    lifted the leaves.)
    "I don't know who you are, sister of Ukyo."
    Why was it so hard to phrase this? "I'm not a woman."
    Tsubasa blinked. That wasn't very clear. He breathed her in; she
    had the scent of a woman. She had the curves (not that that had set in
    before) of one. She was 100% woman.
    She tried to rephrase. "I can't be your woman." That was worse.
    She had had enough; she braced the limb, then jumped down.
    That was the plan. Of course, Tsubasa was more than he seemed. He
    held her wrist.
    So, they jumped rather roughly to the ground. Ukyo was the first
    on her feet, and she turned to run. Unluckily, Tsubasa had a grip of
    iron.
    "Let! Go! Dammit!" She eyed a plastic trashcan, then, in a
    Herculean effort, dragged Tsubasa and unceremoniously dumped him in it.
    Slamming the lid, she sat down on her seat, huffing. She didn't
    want to do it, but he left no choice. She have to explain a few things
    to Haruka, including how her dress was now dirty and torn. She picked
    herself up, and went to check on Tsubasa... just to see if he was okay.
    An arm shot out through the hard plastic.
    Ukyo "aaaaaiiiiieeeeee!"ed, and proceeded to knock the bejeezus out
    of him.
    This narration is under the impression that plastic used to be
    tougher stuff.
    "That was a great party, Haruka."
    "Thanks."
    "Give my thanks to Ukyo as well."
    "Will do."
    "Uh... yeah. Ditto."
    "Thanks, Hiroshi." She whispered to Daisuke. "What's with him?"
    "Stumped him."
    "Did not."
    "Okay, how many?"
    "Uh... ninety."
    "Nope. Bye."
    "Bye."
    The two male voices started to fade. "Is it higher or lower,
    Daisuke?"
    "Um... Haruka. About... our agreement."
    Haruka turned to Shun. "Don't worry."
    He smiled. "Be happy."
    "Your specialty is not eroticism. I guess your
    boyfriend's into masochism. Your body temperature is ten
    below; when it's over, it's over."
    - Michael Franks, "When It's Over"
    from the "Indispensable" album
    Tsubasa looked sullen. He couldn't afford to start a conversation
    with Ukyo, after that night in the park. But, she was the only
    connection he had to that girl. Of course, they were siblings. That
    answered both questions: having seen the trouble Hiroshi gets in with
    some the other guys in general, and with Ukyo in particular, was enough
    of a warning. He shot baleful, yet quick glances at her.
    Ukyo looked sullen. She wasn't sure of how she could apologize to
    Tsubasa. She'd thought of telling him the truth, but it would give her
    nothing but false hopes. She... she wasn't a girl. She was going to
    live as a guy even if it means... (No! She shook herself.) It wasn't
    going to work out. She shot baleful, yet quick glances at him.
    Haruka was able to watch the play between the two, and thought,
    what the hell happened?
    "Hundred... twenty-six."
    "Oh... okay. Close enough."
    Shun tagged along with Tsubasa, who fell back from Daisuke and
    Hiroshi. "Say, Tsubasa. Haven't seen you guys jamming lately."
    "Oh," Tsubasa covered his distracted air. "With the exams coming,
    and all... But there's a big post-exam party on next Saturday at the
    Ukyo's." He wondered where he picked up "the Ukyo's".
    "And besides," Hiroshi added, "Ukyo and Haruka are off having their
    biweekly."
    "And you," Daisuke observed, "are too eager to go home."
    "Very observant, Watson," Shun intoned. "Logical deduction would
    point to..."
    "... him having bought a new game," Tsubasa concluded.
    Shun looked surprised. "How'd you guess that?"
    "He showed it to me during Asian Myth."
    "A new game?" Daisuke seemed mildly interested.
    "It's... a fighting game." Hiroshi sounded like he was casting
    off.
    They bit. "Aren't you sick and tired of those types of games?"
    Daisuke was mildly irritated.
    "Yeah, they're so hack-and-slash. And once you've seen one, you've
    seen'em all."
    "Not so," Tsubasa said amiably.
    "What's it, then?" Daisuke ticked off names on his fingers.
    "Super Mario 5? Sailor Versus Turbo? Sonic Tournament? Dragon Ball
    Renaissance?"
    "Nope." Hiroshi was ready to reel them in. "New one." He
    scrounged for the CD.
    "New name?" Shun came up with names pretty quickly. "Clone Clonk?
    Martial Mayhem? Sexy Chocolate? (say, that would be a cool band name)
    Fantastic Fistfight? Virtua Insanity?"
    "Here," Hiroshi shoved the CD into their hands.
    The cover was simple: it was black, and in white block letters, it
    said "Strip Fighter".
    "Well," Shun said, "what're we waiting for?"
    They left post-haste.
    The soccer varsity held its practices once a month, just one less
    than the volleyball varsity. The sheer number of members made sure that
    there were more than enough substitutes for the main school team.
    In fact, it made for more than enough substitutes for two teams,
    when practices did occur. So, the overall time that the regular soccer
    player had monthly was just roughly forty-five minutes; half a game.
    It is easy to see why there are many members.
    But this narration digresses.
    "Nothing, eh?"
    "Worse than nothing."
    "How's that?"
    "Not only is he still after me, but he thinks that I'm my brother."
    "Rumors have ways of skewing things up. So, does that mean that
    you don't want him?"
    "I don't want him to get hurt. There's no way of working it out,
    anyway."
    "When there's a will, there's a... dead guy. You still haven't
    answered my question."
    A significant pause.
    "Uhhh boy." She slapped her forehead.
    "This cola is weird," Shun commented, "blue doesn't do so well."
    "This is definitely better than that other game," Hiroshi
    commented, not necessarily on the same.
    "The one with the girl in armor, eh?"
    "She could be in a miniskirt..."
    "... or in a bikini..." Shun added.
    "... or you could change the color of her underwear," Hiroshi
    topped. "Seen it, too, eh?"
    "Of course," Tsubasa countered, "you showed it to us."
    "Not you, foo'." He pointed to the blonde on the left. "That's
    her."
    "Gee," Tsubasa said innocently. "I couldn't really tell with all
    those clothes off."
    "I don't have that problem," Daisuke deadpanned.
    "And that longhaired one?" He pointed to the other girl.
    Daisuke paused the game. He took two fishcakes, and trimmed the
    edges off. Dunking them into Shun's cola (prompting the latter to test
    whether or not the taste was actually better), he placed them lightly on
    the screen.
    "Oh. Didn't recognize her without the buns."
    "I did," Hiroshi muttered; he HAD seen the movie. Shun discarded
    his drink, deeming it hopeless.
    "You guys are studying already?"
    "Yes, we are," Haruka said as flatly as she could.
    "But you can't!" Hiroshi was immediately silenced by the denizens
    of the library.
    "Yes, we can," said Ukyo, picking up a voluminous tome.
    "Apparently, our Mr. Mask likes giving reeeeeally hard tests."
    "O, now, does 'ee?" Tsubasa brogued. "Aye, t'would be t'captain.
    'Warp speed,' 'ee sez. 'More power,' 'ee sez."
    "Fine, then. Go ahead. We're staying here." Haruka didn't give
    them any mind.
    "Uh..."
    Shun, too? "Yeah, Shun?" Hiroshi wondered.
    "That reminds me... I've got to run an errand for my mom." He
    pulled away. "See ya!"
    "God, this is depressing." Daisuke removed his spectacles, and put
    them in their sleeve.
    "That's okay," Tsubasa was rubbing his hands together in a manner
    that said mastermind, megalomania, and scheme all at the same time.
    "I've got something for the next gig."
    "Is it...?" Daisuke paused.
    "... a new...?" Hiroshi paused.
    "... gimmick?" they said at the same time.
    "Okay, what's the gimmick?"
    The three of them stood beneath a tree. Ukyo just frowned. "I
    don't know if we should really do this."
    "Don't worry," Haruka assured her. Her boyish look, combined with
    the school uniform, clashed with the way she possessively took Shun's arm
    in hers. "I assure that it will keep him off your tail." She pulled
    playfully on the arm. "Isn't that right, Shun-honey?"
    "I wish you wouldn't call me that..." Shun muttered, blushing.
    "Oh, okay." Haruka rolled her eyes, in mock protest. Then she
    stuck a tongue out at him. "Shun-chan."
    Ukyo coughed politely. Haruka tossed her winningest smile at her.
    "So... we'll do it this Saturday. After the shop closes."
    "I... I'm not sure it'll work. He's pretty determined."
    "Honey," Haruka said, "I'm the best at what I do. I'm so good,
    it's magic."
    It was regular practice for players on the field to switch
    positions. After all, the fullbacks and the halfbacks almost did the
    same things, and the sweepers almost didn't do anything. On a field of
    twenty-odd people, there were only really just two that needed to be on
    the alert, and they took shifts.
    However, in the junior high school that Seito Sentai started in,
    there was more of a strategy to the haphazard plays that usually occurred
    on a rough-and-tumble sport. There was a detail to precision that edged
    on nit-picking.
    Roughly, the division of labor followed: the fastest, most
    controlled ball-handlers were suited to be fullbacks. The bigger,
    stronger force was set to be in the halfback position, to make sure that
    the ball was closer to the other end. The sweepers would of course be
    the most agile of them.
    But anyone who's watched all the Stallone films would know that,
    even if Pele were in the movie, he'd never be the star. That privilege
    is part and parcel of being the goalie.
    But we're getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we?
    "Jazz?" Hiroshi sounded incredulous. "I don't think it was meant
    to be done on a rock set."
    "All we need is a keyboard, and some samples. Come on!" Daisuke
    was raving, which was kind of rare for him. "You're the one who said
    that we should be 'exploring our music'." There was no patronizing tone.
    "A mix, yes! Totally shifting genre is out of the question."
    Hiroshi was very adamant.
    Tsubasa turned speculative. "Your uncle put you up to this, didn't
    he?" He pointed to the CD Daisuke wasn't waving around. "He's gotten
    mellow ever since his apartment manager got married."
    "I... Now what has my..." Daisuke remembered that his summer was
    buffeted first with strings classical interpretations, subtly but surely
    replaced by contemporary piano, guitar and mustached artists. God knew
    that he was a lover of the "barbaric tunes", but this was out of
    proportion. "You know...," he said after calming down, "I think you're
    right."
    "It's okay." Tsubasa put a hand on the bassist's shoulder. "It's
    actually a pretty neat idea." He spoke louder, placing Hiroshi back into
    the discussion loop. "Do we know anybody who knows how to play
    keyboards?"
    "I do..." Daisuke stopped, then shook his head. "Nope, he can't.
    He and his brothers are making their own band."
    "Wow," Tsubasa mouthed. "That would be cool. Bet they're taking
    their schooling by mail."
    "Hey," Hiroshi remembered, "isn't that...?"
    "Yup," Daisuke nodnodded. "The one you thought was a girl."
    "Not news," Tsubasa shrugged. "And the only other people in the
    club that don't do rock do DJ work..."
    "Well, what's the gimmick?" All this suspence was getting to them.
    "Watch," Tsubasa opened the door to the studio, "and learn."
    "Why doesn't this stupid thing work?" He held the trinket of doubt
    into the fading sunlight.
    "When I try it in class, it doesn't work. When I show it to my
    girlfriend, it doesn't work. When I try it after a glass of milk before
    I go to sleep, I pass out, and have this weird dream."
    In the red-tinted, darkening horizon, the figure focussed the
    "party ornament" in the air. "I'm going to find out how this thing
    works," he started placing the mask to his face, then back into the air,
    "even if I have to keep doing this 'til..."
    Night fell. He then turned into a colored air-system that wouldn't
    have done Bono proud.
    The next day, Tsubasa and company noted that their Asian Mythology
    teacher came in on time, as usual, but his eyes had acquired a dog-eyed,
    reddish cant. They made sure to keep on his good side, at least for that
    day.
    Saturday, of course, in the Latin languages, is named after Saturn,
    and is the only day named after a Roman god(dess). In Japanese, the day
    that coincides with Saturday is called doyobi. "-yobi" signifies that
    the word means a day of the week. The "do" part the word, which
    differentiates the word from the other days of the week, is written in
    kanji with the character for earth, or soil. Very humble, comparing it
    to the sun, the moon, fire, water, trees, and gold, which represent the
    rest of the days.
    Nonetheless, despite it being the most down-to-earth of days, it's
    the one, at the end of which, the most celebration occurs, especially for
    school children. (Mr. Mask would probably take this as a sign that a new
    sect of Saturn-worshippers was evolving, but that would be Mr. Mask.
    And, again, he would be out of his league.) This is because Japan has
    the longest school year: six days a week.
    One tries to put in as much as one can get.
    "You're on in a few minutes. Where is Tsubasa?"
    Hiroshi was filing a nail. "He'll be along."
    Shun came in from the outside. "Why are they putting a table on
    the stage? And a trash can, too."
    Daisuke hummed a bit.
    Haruka entered as well. She eyed the two musicians and rolled her
    eyes. She mouthed "wait" to Ukyo, who looked no less annoyed.
    Hiroshi glanced at the wristwatch, and counted from five. Daisuke
    did the same. Two brothers-in-band in the audience did the same.
    Go... yon... sen... ni... ichi...
    Simultaneously, the four of them got to their feet, and raced onto
    the stage.
    The table was slightly to the left of the drum set, and there was a
    standard hard-plastic trashcan sitting just to the right of the seat
    behind the drums. Daisuke picked up his bass, and took a microphone.
    Hiroshi, on the other hand, discarded the guitar on the side opposite
    Daisuke, and sat behind the drums.
    The other two went behind the table and waited.
    Daisuke tap-tapped the head. "Uh... we're Seito Sentai, and..."
    He scratched his head. "... we're experiencing some difficulties... so,
    uh, please... bear with us."
    He put the microphone on the front of the stage. Daisuke started a
    low beat, and Hiroshi entered into it. Soon after, anyone familiar with
    the series would notice that they were actually playing a modified
    version of the "Mission: Impossible" theme.
    At the time that Hiroshi had finished on a very heavy riff, a small
    fireworks display under the onstage table prompted a backlight to
    illuminate the two other people.
    There were two turntables, and a microphone. They started playing
    a peppy tune. Hiroshi and Daisuke changed their riffs appropriately.
    At the end of another heavy riff, another pyrotechnic barrage
    happened, this time under the trash can; the trashcan jumped into the
    air, suddenly sprouting legs.
    It landed at the front of the stage, surprising most of the more
    attentive patrons. Sprouting arms, the hands flipped the top of the
    outfit off, revealing the (now expected) missing third member.
    Tsubasa picked up the microphone, still donning the pink dress, and
    began to sing in a very female voice: "I just need to go out on a
    Sunday..."
    Haruka and Shun were trying to revive an asphyxiated Ukyo, who
    fainted.
    Strutting along the stage like only a garbage can can, Tsubasa
    continued: "... sun is high, sky is blue; it's a date day..."
    Shun was trying to send her air using a towel, and Haruka looked
    back at the band gone bonkers. "This'll be harder than I thought."
    "Not gonna say it, can't make me say it; no, not gonna let you
    have your way...."
    "I never knew you could dance sooooo well, Wings. You're wasted on
    the drums, man."
    Tsubasa had a black cloud looming over him. "I'll never, ever,
    ever do that..." His line of thought was broken by a hand clamping over
    his mouth, pulling him into the shadows. A door closed, covering the
    loss.
    Daisuke turned around, gyrating his pelvis in a provocative manner.
    "If you want my boooooooody... and you think I'm seeeeeeeeeeexy..." He
    noticed that the last patrons had seen him, and that his companion had
    not.
    He stopped, then walked out the door, gyrating all the way.
    It was dark in that corner. This was mainly because a) it was
    already early evening, and b) the light was off in the storeroom. He
    knew that he was in the storeroom because the smell of yolk was obvious.
    The figure pushed him to the wall where the light switch was; they often
    dressed up here. He had the wind slightly knocked out of him. He was,
    in more ways than one, walking on eggshells.
    "Tsubasa...?"
    It was her. Gods, she was strong. Why did her voice sound so...
    distant? As if it was a foot off to his left, instead of in front of
    him. Must have been slamming the wall.
    "Tsubasa, I'm sorry, but I had to find you. To talk to you."
    He squirmed, tried to say something, but to no avail.
    "No, listen." She sounded calm, yet desperate. "I can't see you
    anymore. I can't see anyone anymore."
    Tsubasa wondered, why the melodrama? I'm sure I could make sense
    of this... if I could talk... or I could look her in the eye... He
    reached for the switch just above his head, to the left.
    Someone noticed.
    As Tsubasa was able to touch the switch, the light went on.
    Several things happened at once: the person holding him ran out of
    the room, long brown hair billowing, sobbing slightly; Ukyo was standing
    just inside the door, which had opened; Tsubasa was able to breathe.
    Soon as he could catch that breath, though, he was on the way out.
    This was hampered by the fact that Ukyo had closed the door.
    Shun ran quickly into Ukyo's room.
    "How did it go?" Haruka was helping him with the wig.
    "Don'know. It's all up to her now." He gestured towards the
    storeroom.
    "Stop her, dammit!" Tsubasa wasn't really sure that this was a
    good thing, so he stuck to the indignation over the unmitigated gall that
    stood before him. "Help her! She's hurting!"
    To his utter shock, Ukyo just broke down in front of him, her face
    in her hands. Oh, man. "I'm sorry!"
    Ukyo couldn't stop herself; she hugged Tsubasa as hard as she
    could. Awkwardly, Tsubasa patted her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said,
    again.
    The hug lasted for a few minutes. Tsubasa soon gave up patting
    her, and tried, softly at first, then forcibly, to extract himself from
    the embrace.
    "I... I'm sorry." It was Ukyo's turn. "I-it's just..."
    "Look..." Tsubasa was now sure that he stumbled on something that
    he shouldn't have.
    "No... no. I..." She looked undecided for a while, then
    straightened. "I've... got something to tell you."
    It might be of interest to note that there were no more eggs broken
    after that little incident.
    "Hey, Haruka!"
    "Yeah?"
    "You or Shun seen Tsubasa?"
    "Said something about an errand, or some else."
    "Oh, well. 'Suppose, he'll just pick up his uniform from Ukyo."
    "'Suppose," they conceded.
    "I... my sister..."
    When nothing came, he asked, "yes?"
    "... she... she had a... guy..."
    He wasn't sure he understood. "A... a guy... friend?"
    "... a boyfriend. They were childhood friends." She began to
    fidget, pacing slightly.
    Oh. "And... he..."
    She stopped. "... left her. I... she was heartbroken. So was I."
    "How... how old was she?"
    "Six. I was six."
    "It must've been awful... she still hurts, even now."
    She turned dark. "And that's why I promised that she'd never get
    hurt, ever again."
    He stared at her, noting the grim nature of her posture. "I
    understand."
    She looked him in the eye, steely-brown. "I hoped you would." She
    turned to the door, then looked at him. "Do us all a favor." And with
    that, she left the drummer on the broken shells of unborn dreams.
    Sunday morning.
    "Unnnnggghhh..." moaned Shun.
    "Unnnnggghhh..." moaned Haruka, in his ear.
    "'Mornin'," murmured Shun back.
    "'Mornin'," Haruka replied.
    "What do we have planned for today, eh?" Shun seemed not to know.
    "The usual. Breakfast?"
    "Don't mind if I do. What're you having?"
    A pause. "Eggs. Scrambled."
    Shun wrinkled his nose. "I'm allergic to eggs. I'm having some
    fish and vegetables."
    "A heavy breakfast."
    "I'm a growing boy."
    She had a smile in her voice. "So you are."
    "Oh, well. See you later."
    "See you later." They waited for the other to cut the connection
    first, and ended up doing it at the same time.
    Sunday morning.
    "Unnnnggghhh..." moaned Ukyo.
    "Unnnnggghhh..." moaned Ukyo, again, this time rubbing her head.
    She opened her bleary eyes, and wondered when she had slept. Probably
    right after she had stopped hiccuping.
    She tried to turn, but found that she had placed her weight on an
    arm which held quite a few hairs in place. "Owwwwww..."
    Maybe she wouldn't open shop today. She needed the break, since
    there were tests coming up.
    She rolled over again, this time not planning to roll over again
    until spring passed by: it was going to a cold day.
    Sunday midmorning.
    Tsubasa rolled over, and opened his eyes. He had so much to do for
    the day. He got up, and got some grub.
    Sunday.
    *KRRRIIIINGGG!*
    Hmmm.... Alarm. Is it Monday already...?
    *KRRRIIIINGGG!*
    Monday? No... no alarm clock. Riiiigghhht.
    *KRRRIIIINGGG!*
    What's ringing? Ohhhh... hobble, hobble.
    *KRRRIIIINGGG!*
    *k-clik*
    "'llo." Mumble, grumble.
    "Hello? Ukyo?" Girl voice.
    "'Yubasa? My sissster'z not 'ere. Go'way."
    "Ukyo? It's Haruka."
    "'A-ruka?"
    "Wake up, girlfriend. Sounds like you didn't sleep last night."
    "Aa'full. Hiccup."
    "All night?"
    "All night."
    A sympathetic sound. "Looks like you're not gonna open shop
    today."
    "Ugh."
    "Look. Go ahead, rest up. We've got tests tomorrow, y'know."
    "I knooow. Then'kewt."
    "You're welcome. Good night."
    "Why did I call her again?" Haruka seemed at a loss. "I knew it
    was important at the time." She shrugged. "I'll just call her later."
    "Tsubasa!" Mrs. Kurenai called.
    "Yeah, mom?" The teen was on the way down.
    "You forgot your uniform at the disco."
    "It's not a disco, mom. It's a restaurant. Didn't I go home in a
    uniform yesterday?"
    "Whatever. It's not in the wash."
    "Oh... darn." He went out the door.
    "I know," Ukyo informed no one. "I'll go get a bath. A long, hot
    soak at the public baths. 500 yen for three or four hours. Not bad.
    Maybe I should put up one of my own, someday." She chuckled, fetching
    the toiletries.
    Had Tsubasa's house been further (or, in fact, closer) than it was
    from the apartment, things would have worked out much differently.
    Unfortunately, it had unraveled, much like a poorly hashed plot, as
    follows:
    "Hello?" Tsubasa knocked on the front door. He was decked in a
    cool white shirt, and jeans.
    He opened the door, which wasn't locked. Which was kind of weird
    in any sense. He entered.
    Truth to be told, he wanted to see her again. But that was the
    extent of what he wanted. So he was going to find out where she slept,
    probably catch a glimpse of her beautifully shaped body... the hips he
    held to tightly... *slap!*... the swell of her... *slap!*... maybe grab a
    souvenir or two... *BONK!*
    He had been enjoying that new game that Hiroshi had WAY too much.
    I left the door open?! Maybe I should write down my recipes and
    leave them out in the open as well.
    I can't believe I'd be so scatterbrained.
    He went past the storeroom. Through the uncluttered floor, he
    ducked into the bathroom. He felt silly enough to check into the closets
    to see if there were false walls.
    Now wasn't that strange. A bedroom (which he knew to be Ukyo's), a
    bathroom, then the restaurant proper. They sleep together? Maybe the
    wall moves when you close the closet door...
    Ukyo went back into her room. Old habits die hard, she supposed,
    removing her ribbon. It would've been okay to go out in her normal boys'
    clothes, but she wanted a comfortable change of clothes. She took two
    strides toward the closet, and pulled the handle.
    The following events should come as no surprise.
    She opened the closet door, and gasped.
    "Tsubasa's uniform!" She took the offending garment, and threw it
    askew on the bed. (One can only wonder as to how she had that leap of
    intuition though.) She took a white jogging outfit out, and put it on
    the uniform. She closed the door half-heartedly.
    A box which said "this side up" upside down sighed. Then it
    deposited a rather harried looking classmate of hers.
    Meanwhile, Ukyo was already on the way of dressing up. Make that
    dressing down. She took off the wraparound she slept in (how could she
    have forgotten that?), revealing the bandages she wore.
    This was exactly what Tsubasa saw.
    For all you anime lovers out there, let's just say that the
    interest Tsubasa had for Ukyo's bandages were merely curiosity, like the
    interest one would have seeing, as an example, Shinnosuke's bandages.
    In fact, had Shinnosuke just removed his jacket with his back
    turned (as had Ukyo) toward Tsubasa, he would have been just as
    interested. Body markings had a lot to tell about a person.
    It is just unfortunate that Ukyo unraveled body markings closely
    resembled breasts, even from the back. (For the record, this exposure of
    breasts did not, in any way, increase her height.)
    What amounted to a situation was when Tsubasa gasped.
    Tsubasa gasped.
    Ukyo turned, not quite covering her breasts.
    Tsubasa stared, started, backed up, hit a wall, and generally made
    a bigger noise.
    Ukyo then thought to heft that almighty spatula, to dole out
    righteous wrath. She opened the closet door.
    Nothing.
    She turned back.
    A box moved.
    Faster than you would think, the BIG spatula found itself
    compacting several boxes into a corner.
    Nothing moved.
    Satisfied, she turned and closed the door.
    Tsubasa had his first lesson in camouflage.
    "Oy, what a harsh mistress," he whispered.
    "Although we've come to the end of the road, still I
    can't let go. It's unnatural. You belong to me, I belong
    to you, girl."
    - Boyz II Men, "End of the Road"
    from the OST of "Boomerang" and
    the album "Cooleyhighharmony"
    Now what?
    The sun beat lightly upon the grass.
    If I tell anyone about it, they'd either:
    a) think I've lost it;
    b) believe me, and she'd be forced to leave.
    It'll be likely that she'd hate me for it.
    "Uhm..."
    I'll never see her again. Hmm...
    A low rumbling noise edged into audible periphery.
    "Uhmm... captain..."
    Can't risk it.
    "Captain..."
    Can't do nothing, either.
    "Captain Tsubasa..."
    What to do?
    "CAPTAIN TSUBASA!"
    "What?!" He straightened, looking at one of the sweepers.
    "Incoming!" He pointed to the mass of players coming toward them.
    An idea hit him like a soccer ball to the face.
    The world suddenly felt like the inside of a goal box.
    "Great save!" The rumbling sounds faded away.
    Tsubasa raised an arm, gave a thumbs-up, then fainted.
    Hiroshi and Daisuke stood almost a whole court away, standing near
    the goalposts of the other team.
    "What happened to Wings?" Daisuke concerned himself.
    "I don't know. What I do know is that you haven't answered the
    question."
    "Zardos was Steve's uncle. Dr. Armstrong was Bozanian." He shaded
    his eyes, and peered. "He's okay." He pointed the receding figure.
    "Darn." Hiroshi ground a foot, searching for another question to
    pass the time.
    "How many fingers am I holding up?"
    "Do antennae count, sir?"
    "He's okay. Just overacting." He presented a hand and pulled.
    "Okay, girly boy, I suppose you're just not cut out to be the star
    of the show."
    "I suppose," he commented, jogging into the field.
    "Who to pick as goalkeeper?" The coach seemed indecisive.
    "Goal... keeper?" Tsubasa jogged back.
    "Coach... this goalkeeping business... the goal's to have them not
    shoot into the goal, right?"
    "Yes. Are you sure you're okay?"
    "Fine, fine. One more swing at it, sir." He jogged back to the
    goalie position.
    Konatsu was feeling frisky.
    He was sort of frisky for a while now, and this was only a day
    longer for the mood swing. Mood swings came very rarely to him, and he
    was making sure that he was going to make good of it.
    He was an artiste.
    Of course, in the start of this frisky mood, he left "the Big
    Mouth" almost three years ago.
    Mood swing, indeed.
    Right now, he was running across the soccer field. He was kicking
    a ball in front of him.
    He was smiling. Not grinning, smiling; he was feeling frisky.
    Also, the way there was unhampered by the annoyance of competent
    players. They were mostly on his team, so it wasn't going to be a
    problem.
    The goal was right in front of him. Now it was time to put on a
    few fancy foot moves... what?
    The goalie was missing. The guy who took his band from him wasn't
    there.
    It would have been fun to see the look on his face as the ball
    zooms past his face... he'll just have to settle on seeing him rush in,
    too, too late. He gave a ferocious kick, straight for the center of the
    net.
    It would only be natural for fate to snub the frisky artists of the
    world.
    The goal moved. The ball flew through air straight into the
    outdoor basketball court.
    The whistle sounded, and he sat, pulling at the grass frustratedly.
    Slightly after Tsubasa was briefed that he couldn't become the goal
    (or, at least, could not dress up as the goal), he quickly turned to
    being a halfback.
    This is not to say that things got less dramatic.
    "Charge!"
    He zoomed past the half into the defensive positions of the
    opposing team.
    Daisuke and Hiroshi saw it, the large billowing mass of limbs and
    smoke and ball, and tensed.
    Tsubasa was a man possessed, and that was only because he had a
    goal, and he was going at it (not necessarily using the shortest means)
    but the one which he could take without waiting for opportunity to
    present itself.
    He barreled through his counterparts, trailing a zigzaggy path
    towards his bandmates.
    As soon as they could come within range, Daisuke pounced, entering
    the fray. Hiroshi said, "Hey...!" without making much of an impression.
    Turning to the goalie, he saw the intent pose he had, hoping that the
    ball wouldn't come their way. But come their way it did.
    Hiroshi wasn't as into this thing as Daisuke did, but he was
    suddenly the only thing left of a defensive strategy. He did the only
    thing he could.
    He ran headlong into the mob. His shoe came undone. He tripped.
    He slid headlong into the mob.
    Of course, the head of this mob was Tsubasa, who, as far as he was
    concerned, was only fighting feet. When his shin came in contact with
    Hiroshi's rib, it spun his incredibly adaptive and well-balanced
    receptive machine off-kilter.
    They fell into a rather large and unceremoniously piled group. The
    ball rolled forward, rapidly losing momentum.
    The goalie, who stared blankly into hell itself, didn't even notice
    the ball continue under his legs, and stop just behind him.
    Tsubasa had his a hand each on a shoulder.
    "Oof. You're heavy, y'know that?"
    He couldn't speak. He was wondering how Hiroshi could; he was the
    one who got kicked in the gut.
    Then again, he was Hiroshi.
    "Now, we have problems, don't we?" Daisuke said softly.
    They stared at him; Tsubasa had to heft his shoulder, and look
    under it.
    Daisuke puckered his lips and used them to point.
    The bandaged foot stayed bandaged.
    "Oh... yeah." Tsubasa just looked sullen.
    "Oh, yeah, what?"
    "Can't play drums."
    "Well..." Hiroshi didn't at all sound vindictive. "We CAN teach
    you bass..."
    On Tuesday afternoon, there was a small squall. Ukyo had closed up
    shop for the week, so that she could "study", but even the excuse of
    getting to the library to eye the innards of some tome wasn't being
    bought.
    She was worried. Tsubasa hadn't talked to her in since the week
    started, and she thought that he might have even been avoiding her. Then
    again, if she was REALLY being paranoid, she would have suspected that he
    knew.
    Ridiculous.
    Someone came in through the door, though she hadn't expected
    anyone. "Hello...?"
    The blonde (who had unusually frizzled hair, which clashed with her
    deeper complexion) blue-eyed her, focussing as though recognizing her.
    They immediately defocused. "Not her." She shook her head.
    "Yes?"
    "Uh... I saw that, uh, you were selling, um, okonomiyaki, and I,
    uh, was, um, sort of hungry, and...?"
    "I'm sorry, but we're closed."
    "Yes, I SAW the sign which... I'm not THAT off... but I was KIND of
    hoping that..."
    "Yes, but we're closed for today."
    She grabbed her by the shoulders and before Ukyo could throttle
    her, she plead with watery eyes, "PLEASE!!"
    The ended up talking about the girl that this other girl was
    looking for, over three cooking okonomiyaki.
    "Sounds like a pretty sad story," Ukyo nodded.
    "But, we're really such good partners!" The girl n.nned.
    "I meant the other girl..." she muttered.
    Ukyo quickly bagged the servings and gently (yet surely) pushed her
    out.
    "So sorry to have bothered you!" she left cheerily.
    "Whew," sighed Ukyo, completely missing two thieves come away with
    her delectables from a totally unprepared and bumbling lady. Maybe my
    life's not THAT depressing, after all.
    Of course, there was the test in Asian Myth.
    "What the hell?!?"
    It was twenty pages long.
    The top of the first page had this on it:
    Name: Section:
    Character Name: Gender: Race:
    Character Class (Fighter/Cleric/Mage/Thief):
    Age: Weight: Height:
    Hair Color: Eye Color:
    Coins: PP: GP: EP: SP: CP:
    Items:
    While the rest of the class were scratching their heads, and
    generally vowing swift vengeance on the teacher, Hiroshi (who had had his
    share of RPGs - and all related adaptations) was writing "Luna (32-22-
    32)" and chuckling insanely into his Chinese collar.
    When Ukyo came back into the shop, to make the preparations for the
    big party that afternoon, she was taken aback when she found that the
    whole drum set had disappeared. More than worried, she was curious as to
    why anyone who would have hit upon the heaviest thing in the shop. (Just
    in case, she checked the cash; it was still there.)
    In any case, that was the music club's loss: they were the ones
    who had the only other set of keys, and that was because they asked for
    them, in order to set up for the aforementioned party.
    It might, she later realized, cause problems, though. After all,
    the basic rock groups would have your basic dilemmas, and basically, the
    party would be called off.
    Too bad. She had been looking forward to the party. (Despite her
    current predilection against parties.)
    She also noticed that nobody was there.
    She was in the middle of fixing up when the parade came in.
    At first, some of the members of the music club came in, bearing
    weird metal rods. These they put on the stage.
    Later, several drums and cymbals came in, and began adding
    themselves to the ensemble on stage.
    Finally, a triangle, a tambourine and a snare drum rounded out the
    monstrous looking drum set, which occupied the whole of centerstage.
    Having done that, they returned a familiar table and several additional
    amplifiers to the sides of the stage. They also started moving back
    tables which were closest to the area, which started to resemble an
    Ellison dystopia.
    Ukyo was getting nervous to a degree. When she had come within
    striking distance (with that omnipresent spatula, no less), the usual
    suspects came to intercede.
    "All those wires... look dangerous..."
    "Not to worry," Hiroshi sounded off, "have we done anything to harm
    you?"
    "I... I mean... wouldn't it be a bit... too loud?"
    "Nope." Daisuke looked sincere. "This is Tsubasa's drum set.
    Have you heard anything bad from Tsubasa's neighbors? I think not."
    Not that they would bother to explain that Tsubasa hasn't had
    neighbors for the past year and a half. As an additional side note,
    those who had been living in the neighborhood of the "Ukyo's" soon found
    themselves in the mood to travel, on a permanent basis. Unluckily, most
    of them went to live in the quieter districts of Tokyo, like Nerima.
    That is to say, when luck is down, it stays down.
    Mrs. and Mr. Kurenai.
    "Tsubasa?"
    "Party."
    "Dinner?"
    "Nope."
    ...
    "Did you know that it's been at least a decade since we did
    something strange together?"
    "Surely, you're not..."
    "I am."
    A glance passed.
    "Let's go."
    Loki, god of mischief, had his power in the night! That was the
    missing link!
    Exams unnoticed, he packed the proof he needed, and rushed over,
    too overwhelmed to wear the thing before showing it to anyone. And was
    he sure where to show it...? But, of course... where all the kids were
    at.
    The Ukyo's was packed.
    "There's a fruitcake in everybody..."
    Most of the people, though, didn't have seats.
    "There's a fruitcake in everyone..."
    That was okay, though.
    "There are B-sides to every story..."
    They couldn't take it sitting down anyhow.
    "And the story has just begun..."
    "When are you guys coming up?" Haruka wanted to know.
    "Later..." Hiroshi shooed, trying to concentrate on the women
    closest to him that were swaying oh-so-well.
    "... hopefully, Tsubasa would be there," Daisuke replied, glancing
    at the door.
    "... augh!" an anguished drummer commented. He was racing,
    thereby excusing himself for his lack of eloquence.
    Unfortunately, there wasn't enough distance between him and...
    "Kurenai! Halt!"
    Damn those schoolboy reflexes. He almost ended up falling on his
    face.
    "Professor." He looked over his shoulder, and hoped not to find
    who he did.
    The instructor from Hell pulled up to pace him and said glowingly,
    "you going to the big post-exam party, eh?" He wagged the mask he had
    meaningfully. "Pace me."
    Tsubasa wondered how much worse this day could end up. He kept the
    piece of paper he held in a pocket and paced.
    "Oh, yeah."
    They both stretched.
    "Unnnnnnggggghhhhh..."
    They started swaying to the beat.
    "Faster, faster, baby..."
    "Uh! Uh! Uhhhhhh!"
    People started moving away from them, slightly disgusted.
    "And... yeeeeeeEEAAAAAH!"
    They separated.
    In the middle of a now vacated circle, Mr. Kurenai stood in a John
    Travolta-ish position, with Mrs. Kurenai leaning back on her heels,
    hanging only by the man's arm in her hand.
    "God, I love disco."
    On one of the further tables, Hiroshi and company held their noses.
    "Boy, I am glad that Wings wasn't here to see that," Daisuke
    muttered.
    They nodded.
    "It's gonna blow... volcano!"
    *BOOM!*
    "Whoa... kewl effects. Two strings... three strings... no strings.
    The lead guitarist even shaved his head. Very... groovy."
    Shun stared at the hole in the ceiling made by the speaker-volcano.
    "Hope it doesn't rain."
    Daisuke worriedly looked at his watch.
    "... supersonic, plate tectonics, stereophonic..."
    Haruka leaned back and folded her arms over her (not-so-obvious)
    chest. "Not fooling us."
    "Excuse me?"
    "I said your not fooling us. This has got to be some sort of other
    gimmick of yours."
    Hiroshi (who had lightly dozed) came in. "Wha-?"
    "Where's he going to come from? Behind the grill? Inside that
    monster?" She pointed at the prop that the band playing was using.
    "Maybe through that hole?" She pointed at the new skylight.
    "Nope. No gimmicks. No cross-dressing, even. Maybe the hole;
    that would be good." He leaned across the table towards her. "Would you
    mind it, if in the middle of a song?" He indicated the ceiling.
    "Fine. Don't tell me." She looked unimpressed.
    "It's gonna blow..."
    The door blew in, showering some of the people closer there with a
    fine layer of sawdust. A body could be seen flying through.
    Tsubasa picked himself up, brushing wood motes from a sweater and
    loose pants, then rushed towards his two bandmates, pushing them to a
    side. Insane cackling could be heard if anyone bothered to strain.
    "Now that," Haruka admitted, "I didn't see coming."
    "VOLCANO!"
    "What!?"
    Seito Sentai found itself in its first make-or-break dilemma.
    "'Let's trash the whole medley'?" Hiroshi mimicked as acidly as he
    could. He picked the songs after all.
    "Look." He tried to stay rational about this. Then, he remembered
    where he stuck the piece of paper. "Here," he said, unfolding it.
    Daisuke skimmed over the chord patterns being presented. "Hmm...
    interesting..." He skipped to the next. "Hm. Athletic." Then: "Ugh.
    Tunnel Carpal Syndrome."
    Hiroshi looked at the sketch for the drums. "What's this part
    which says 'Whatever you want'?"
    Tsubasa looked up from the parts he was revising for lead. "What
    it says. Whatever you want."
    "Hmm... your bit doesn't seem too hard." Then Daisuke saw what
    Tsubasa put near the end. "'Chicken strangling'?"
    "On a sprained ankle?" Hiroshi wondered.
    "Yes, on a sprained ankle."
    "Oy. Let's do it."
    "And, finally, that band we all know: Seito Sentai!"
    Some applause.
    Hobbling gingerly to the centerstage, Tsubasa picked up a
    microphone. Adjusting a stand, he tried to chance tuning the guitar.
    Daisuke kept an eye on him. Hiroshi meekly hopped behind the drums.
    "Uh, hi," Tsubasa waved to the audience, shifting to girl mode
    slightly. "I, uh, sprained my ankle, so I can't play drums." He pointed
    to Hiroshi, who also waved. "But he's playing, so it should be okay.
    Right, H?"
    H nodnodded.
    "And he's still doing bass, so there's nothing wrong there," he
    continued, pointing to Daisuke. He solemnly nodded, starting a low riff.
    "And me? Li'l ol' me?" He started strumming the guitar. "Ma-ry
    had a lit-tle lamb. Lit-tle lamb, lit-tle lamb. Ma-ry had a lit-tle
    lamb, whose fleece was white as snow." He stopped. Hiroshi wasn't doing
    anything, and Daisuke was still doing his low riff.
    He tried strumming a little faster. "Mary had a little lamb whose
    fleece was white as snow. And ev'rywhere that Mary went the lamb was
    sure to go."
    Daisuke was still doing his low riff, but he was starting to pick
    up speed. Hiroshi looked blank.
    Tsubasa strummed even faster. "Mary had a little lamb, whose
    fleece was white as snow. Ev'rywhere that Mary went, the lamb was
    sure..." He switched to a gravelly male voice. "... to... GO!"
    An explosion of sound followed. Hiroshi had suddenly found the
    sticks. Shun grinned.
    What followed was a ten-minute heavy-rock all-English rendition of
    "Mary had a Little Lamb". This narration declines to describe it, as it
    could not remember the second stanza. Neither will it explain how the
    chicken got in.
    "Go! Whoo!"
    "Honestly, I can't understand how you could get drunk on tea."
    "It's good tea. Go son! Whoo!"
    "Just ignore him," Tsubasa reminded himself. He coughed, then
    tapped the head of the microphone. Hiroshi slipped from of the drums,
    and brought his chair to the front. Daisuke did the same, thus putting
    them all within a small circle at centerstage.
    "This is our last song," he said, prompting some of them to moan,
    "and we... I dedicate it to the owner of the restaurant," he gave a
    glance to see if she was there. Alas! She wasn't. "... and her
    brother."
    Hiroshi started the pattern, an acoustic riff. Daisuke joined in
    on the second repetition. Tsubasa had the tambourine. After two more
    stanzas, he started.
    "Back in the olden times,
    The Indians had a keen ol' rajah.
    He had some dough to burn.
    He had some gods to spurn.
    Now, him and his missus,
    (They call her rani now)
    They read that Kama Sutra...
    And they did it all the time.
    (Read, that is.)"
    For some reason, he was sweating. Dammit, acoustic makes him
    sweat, and heavy rock doesn't.
    "Oh! How he loved her so, though!
    He said he'd give the moon and stars.
    Oh! How she loved him so, though!
    She said she'd ride his flashy cars.
    Happy happy snuggle-bunnies.
    Happy happy happy snuggle-bunnies."
    Maybe we should have stuck to the plan, Tsubasa thought.
    "Because he was a wise ol' ruler,
    Wizened to the nth degree.
    Gave her something, made her say:
    'Such a large erection just for me!'
    (Taj Mahal, that is.)"
    The beat started picking up as the bridge came. He switched beats.
    "But those Hindu gods, they don't take likely
    when someone moves in on 'great, big' territory,
    they done the rajah good, make'im pay real bad,
    they turned the rani to the same gender. Male.
    D'you know what the wizened, keen ol' rajah did?"
    Stop. Hiroshi started strumming, the original beat. Then,
    Daisuke, then faster. And faster. Tambourine.
    "CUT DOWN ON HIS E-REC-SHUN!"
    He tore through his sweater.
    "DOWN WITH HIS E-REC-SHUN!"
    He got out of his pants. The standard was back.
    "Went out saying 'man no more!'
    Went out saying 'man no more!'
    My girl ain't a girl no more,
    Nothing would keep us apart!"
    Coda. Starting to slow.
    "Cut down on his cholesterol.
    Cut down on that figure.
    Cut down on those girly mags.
    Cut down on his sportscars."
    Fade out.
    Everything was silent.
    Exactly the reason why everyone turned when the door creaked open.
    Mr. Mask held his namesake up in the air before his face. "Hey,
    kids! Liked my demonstration earlier?"
    They didn't quite understand him, but the exam a few days ago was
    not easily forgotten. The crowd needed something they understood.
    "Fry'im!"
    He got promptly beat up, trinket quite forgotten.
    This narration apologizes for not being consistent on its stand on
    artsy stuff. For clarity's sake, they did not beat up their instructor
    as an urge acquired from the song; they felt like it on their own.
    Months later, the Kabuki club (founded by Shun and Haruka) held its
    first play, "The Demon of Rashomon". Hiroshi and Daisuke lent a hand
    writing for it (though Daisuke had to stop Hiroshi from adding space
    battles for lack of funds) and, apparently, Tsubasa was more than willing
    to play a not-so-little demon.
    Celebrating the success (i. e. completion) of their work, they went
    to the Ukyo's. This, mostly, was due to novelty.
    Ukyo excused herself, "I'll go get you guys some food, then," and
    promptly disappeared.
    Haruka muttered, "I'd swear that that girl was a ninja," which
    wasn't heard by the males.
    Shin asked the guitarists of SeSe. "So... you guys haven't split
    up yet?"
    Hiroshi was nonchalant. "Why would we?"
    "Um... aren't you... isn't your..." He dawdled, then bluntly
    retorted, "you guys aren't goofed when your drummer chases guys?!"
    Daisuke asked Haruka, for everyone to hear, "aren't you 'goofed'
    when your friend likes dressing and acting like a girl?"
    Haruka turned to Shun. "Why, no. I think it's cute."
    Shun hid his blush by bowing his head and moaning, "you guys are
    hopeless..."
    Tsubasa chose to come in at that time.
    Shun whispered to Daisuke. "Ixnay on the 'ombre."
    Tsubasa put a hand on Haruka's shoulder. "That was tough make-up.
    Where'd you learn prosthetics?"
    "I started playing with cement a while back," she said blithely.
    "Look at my hair," he ran his fingers, "it used to be beautiful and
    smooth. Now it's so rough and spiky."
    "It'll come off," Shun assured him.
    "The dye?" Tsubasa didn't like the way silver-green clashed with
    his red dress.
    "Nope," he wryly commented, "the hair."
    Ukyo then came out, carrying some goodies.. Bad move.
    "Ukyo!" Tsubasa glomped the newcomer. "How do you like my new
    dress? I'm wearing it just for you..."
    She commented with the bigger end of her spatula.
    Haruka sighed, "at least he's consistent." The others nodded.
    And, thus, this narration begins.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    (Detach here)
    Tsubasa is kind of an ignored character in the manga, as well as
    the anime. (Heck, even Azusa gets a return ep, and there were the five
    episodes on Sentaro Daimonji...) Actually, not too many fanfics even
    include him in their cast (then again, Sentaro Daimonji doesn't have that
    many, either... wait...), much less give him enough to go on. Nope, he's
    not actually maligned (comparing him to Daimonji twice is enough) in any
    manner, just ignored.
    As a segment of the fanfic known as Switch, I hoped to only try to
    explain (at least in context) the psyche of the man who dons girl's
    clothing, without having to leave the context. Tough words... :P
    I really, really didn't want this to be anything even remotely
    serious (in presentation! the story had merit, I hope), but Ukyo was
    hardly any laughing matter. Also, this is more than seven times the
    normal length of a chapter for Switch, and most of it was crammed in nine
    weeks, and classes just started... I love writing long stories... NOT!
    (For anyone who wanted to find out where I got my name, I put in the ref
    here...)
    Stickler note on the use of Nihonggo: there's a line of dialog
    where Daisuke calls Tsubasa MISS Kurenai. Actually, Daisuke called
    Tsubasa "Tsubasa-chan", contrasted from "Tsubasa-kun", implying a shift
    to the female gender. The honorific "-san", as in "Kurenai-san" couldn't
    signify gender, and is translated into Mr./Mrs./Miss, i. e. Mr./Mrs./Miss
    Kurenai. (That's in contrast to Haruka's affectionate "Shun-chan"; I'm
    sure she didn't mean it in that way.) I, of course, just translated it.
    ^_^ (Which should explain the Viz-like preference of losing the long-o
    and long-u sounds, or so-ons. These are also known as the "u"s in Ryouga
    and Souun. Just take note that these are roughly equivalent to accenting
    the syllables, and accentuation doesn't exist in the Japanese language.)
    There are some things you can't do with the Japanese language, like
    implicitly differentiate future tense of a verb from present tense of the
    verb, that's all. (Just don't ask about the "True Blunder" bit. "Kawaii
    Baduchi?")
    I can only imagine how Japanese brogue sounds.
    I hope that those of you who didn't understand the in-jokes could
    still appreciate the story, because some of the references are really,
    really, really personal and often silly... anyone offended by the off-
    color jokes can send flames to me.
    Again, plenty thanks to my pre-readers: Shadow Dancer, Magic
    Knight Kyone, TimeRunner, Scriviner, J. Sutedja, Keener, Andrew Huang,
    Mr. Panda, Terence Marks (and the rest of ronin ML; love that
    Stargazer!) and the rest of the Nikholas F. Toledo Zu, who I pestered
    incessantly; at least I am sure that they have copies (to keep...?).
    They are the shining light to my everyday... I hope to faithfully hold my
    obligations... whatever they are.
    C&C requested, but not completely necessary; only when there's
    something that you really, really want to say. ^_^
    Good day to all.
    (Detach here)
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    


	15. Herbs and Spices: The Flirty Dozen


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 12 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny thanks to whoever saw this.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Day 2
    The Flirty Dozen
    Daisuke waited, on the dot, under the archway of the Nerima
    Shopping Mall. He had actually been early, because he was getting very
    bored of the "summer" vacation, and mostly because he had no reason to be
    anywhere near where most of the martial arts matches occurred. During
    school days, it was easier: there was usually an announcement of sorts,
    usually from the desk of Nabiki Tendo. In any case, sticking within
    earshot of Ranma was enough to insure the daily requirement for
    gratuitous violence.
    Much as he begrudged it, martial arts composed most of his active
    thoughts. He and Hiroshi would occasionally make color commentaries of
    the regular matches Ranma had, and he was also a pretty good control-pad
    combatant, second only to the great Hikaru Gosunkugi. Unfortunately,
    like Gosunkugi, he didn't have enough guts to learn past halfway any
    martial art. Considering the strategy for a well-placed kick or ki-blast
    was not the same as teaching your body to do the exact same thing.
    And so, he had learned to appreciate the finer points of martial
    arts, like respect, concentration and discipline.
    The latter, unfortunately, his companions were lacking in.
    "Night people," he muttered, kicking a pebble on the road.
    Once upon a time, there was a great warrior.
    As with any tale including the phrases "once upon a time" and
    "there was a great warrior", the phrases "beautiful princess", "grave and
    terrible danger", "heroic rescue", and, of course, "happily ever after"
    are expected to follow.
    However, these are the nineties, after all. Fairy tales of that
    type are beyond passe.
    This great warrior, was, in fact, a beautiful princess. She was so
    beautiful, in fact, that all the other heroes who weren't beautiful
    princesses were enamored with her beauty and courage. Had she of a mind
    to, she would have been able to single-handedly revive the guild system
    of adventurers in her homeland.
    There were problems with that, though.
    First and foremost, such a guild probably would break a few union
    laws, and probably would never have a voice in politics.
    Secondly, she wasn't the only great and beautiful warrior-princess
    in town. Some wore long black hair, some were buxom, and, indeed, some
    were lawless. They weren't really happy about not having guilds of their
    own, but their main source of contention was some other matter.
    Thirdly, the other matter. She wasn't exactly a princess. She was
    more of a prince. And all princesses married princes.
    Hiroshi, on the other hand, longed for the summer vacations.
    "I love Nerima," he'd say, about every ten minutes, when he'd
    remember to say it.
    Getting enrolled into Furinkan High, although it would often be
    equivalent to being cannon fodder or getting scalped, was worth having a
    three-week-long break every three months.
    Turning a corner, he approached Daisuke from behind, asking, "the
    girls aren't here yet?"
    Daisuke stifled his mumbling "at last" by noticing their "dates"
    about three blocks down. "They're coming," then he pointed.
    "That they are, friend." Hiroshi ran a hand through his curly
    brown hair, whistling. "Where to first?"
    Daisuke glanced at his watch, which wasn't necessary since he knew
    that they were collectively fifteen minutes late. "Lunch."
    Kodachi ran a hand up Tsubasa's neck, twirling her fingers in his
    silky, long, light brown hair. Her head on his chest, she looked up at
    his face, fascinated by his lips. "You're so beautiful..."
    Tsubasa was somewhere lost on the Highway to Heaven. He found
    Kodachi's choice of perfume... arresting. "Well... I am... in an
    androgynous sense. I might not be handsommmmm..."
    Kodachi came up for air from their latest and deepest kiss.
    "You'll do in a pinch."
    "'In a pi'-YOWTCH!"
    Kodachi winked coyly. Tsubasa smiled nervously, removing Kodachi's
    hand from within the seat of his boxers.
    "Have you ever thought," started Akane, "of destiny?"
    Nabiki was nursing some body bruises she had, while Akane bandaged
    some of the cuts on her arms. Interaction, of course, was good; you'll
    never know what family would tell you when they were inclined. Akane,
    she knew, would always have a loose tongue after a good sparring session.
    She just wished that Akane would stop with the small talk.
    "Nope." She didn't even hesitate.
    Akane took another bandage from the first aid kit. "Never had a
    feeling that everything that happened was planned?"
    She couldn't resist the opening. "Like you and Ranma being
    engaged?"
    Akane shot her a look that shouted "CHEAP SHOT!" rabidly. She
    didn't grin at that, her eyes shouted this back. She covered it up. "Do
    you think that some All-Powerful Writer and his Pre-reader Bob would take
    the time to chronicle each and every life story?"
    "Well," Akane muttered blankly, "yeah."
    Nabiki just shook her head. "Sis, if you don't write your own
    story, you're probably going to blame your misgivings on others."
    Akane sat back, pondering these words. Nabiki smirked, having
    finally ended the inanities. She stood, offering a hand.
    "Urg."
    Mousse did not like sleeping on the floor. Even though he did it
    often, he still hadn't gotten the hang of liking it yet. He also didn't
    appreciate the fact that he was shoved there.
    "Whass the-?"
    He stopped to dodge a cane. Of course, since Cologne was currently
    on the way back from Mt. Fuji, she couldn't have been the one to give him
    the rude awakening. "Wha-? Wha gives?"
    "Dr. Tofu," Kasumi was saying, "we have to talk."
    The hand that shoved him dangled from the edge of the bed. Mousse
    was drawn to the picture in the hand.
    "Ka-Ka-Kasumi?!" Dr. Tofu's glasses were practically steaming. He
    let go of the picture.
    In Mousse's mind, one quite recently freed from the narrowed one-
    girl-for-me! perspective, quite literally, the image was heavenly-sent.
    Dr. Tofu jumped nearly ten feet back. "Y-you gave me k-quite a
    rise, there. Heh-eh."
    Kasumi sounded pleading, "don't run, Doctor. I need you."
    Dr. Tofu's brain was firmly planted in reverse. Thus, he quickly
    made an about-face and ran headfirst into a wall two feet away.
    Kasumi stood aghast. "Oh... oh my." She ran to the knocked-out
    moxibustionist, who had a silly grin on his face.
    Mousse stood, holding the picture, quite enamored and, what's more,
    incredibly piqued. Taking his eyes off the photo, he suddenly realized
    that a body had just replaced him on the bed. He gaped as he saw Kasumi
    standing over a prone Tofu.
    "Y-you...!" He gave Kasumi an openly incredulous look. Then he
    noticed the worried look she gave the doctor. "H-him...?" Then he
    refocused on the prone form, not quite certain who these people actually
    were. "W-who...?" Then he noticed the look he was getting from the
    eldest Tendo girl. "M-me...?" This was accentuated by hand gestures in
    the traditional manic air.
    Kasumi considered Mousse, saying, "you're... Ranma's friend...
    Mousse?"
    "Uh... yeah. I mean, I'm Mousse. Who are you?"
    "I'm Kasumi Tendo. How..." Kasumi pulled herself from routine,
    when she realized what she was going to say. She had inadvertently
    glanced down on Dr. Tofu again, which made Mousse flinch. "... well."
    "And... he's...?"
    Yuka daintily dabbed at her neck with the kerchief. Briefly, she
    glanced at Sayuri, who had her hair down, and thought that, maybe, she
    should wear her hair long. It looked cooler, too. She patted the other
    side of her neck, which went under Hiroshi's scrutiny.
    Sayuri daintily dabbed at her neck with the kerchief. Briefly, she
    glanced at Yuka, and thought that, maybe, she should wear her hair short.
    It probably kept you cooler, too. She patted the other side of her neck,
    which went under Hiroshi's scrutiny.
    Daisuke didn't pay that much attention, since he was trying to see
    if anyone was inside the Cat Cafe. The front door was locked shut. He
    couldn't see anyone from the windows in the alley, and he noticed a
    scuttling in a corner. He wrinkled his nose: rats.
    "Closed, ladies and gent." Daisuke clapped his hands clean of
    whatever dirt he'd picked up.
    "Aaaaaaaaawwwww..." was all that Hiroshi said.
    Sayuri gave him a leer, while Yuka stuck Daisuke a look. "Where'll
    we go, then?"
    Daisuke shrugged, "why not..."
    Gosunkugi had actually missed most of the ruckus by minutes, under
    the guise of his ever-present aura of guileless anonymity. He muttered
    some, "er... must be going... finding my books, that's all..." Actually,
    he found the books on the table in the receiving room.
    He was almost giddy with excitement. Saotome's hair! Several
    ideas of how to use it came to mind: voodoo dolls, demonic stalkers,
    spontaneous combustion, body/mind control, really painful ulcers...
    Of course, he wouldn't be looking as he came out of the clinic.
    *whump!*
    In a flurry of flying books, he was able to both not drop the file
    and fall on his teacher. "Mr. Gosunkugi!" From his vantage point, the
    diminutive English teacher loomed over him. "I would appreciate it if
    you looked where you where going!"
    "Ms. Hinako!" One does not usually meet his teacher in the middle
    of summer, especially his favorite teacher. He hoped he wasn't bubbling
    over in excitement as he stood. "Where are you off to, ma'am?"
    She wouldn't have noticed. "Off to check-up on my baaaaaddest
    student! See ya!" She shuffled along the road at his usual pace,
    leaving a "..." Gosunkugi.
    Kuno ran down the long and winding way to the Tendo dojo. Ever
    since he had found that they (they being the two foci of the ellipse of
    his life-path) had both being taking residence there, it had been easier
    in deciding which upon them he would grant his devotions: whoever would
    be the first to receive him as he came, then she would be the one
    blessed. A simple system, whereupon only the Goddess of Luck Herself
    would have sway.
    When the one to answer his summons from the doorway was Nabiki
    Tendo, he almost but not quite absolutely not considered the irony of it.
    "Kuno-baby! I'm sorry but there's no one home. Akane and our
    little redhead went to the shopping center, I'm afraid. Thanks for the
    roses! They're my favorite." She took the bouquets, and shut the gate
    before the self-appointed school ninny noticed anything about the
    markings on her face.
    "Who was that, Nabiki?" Akane shouted (impatiently) from the
    kitchen.
    "A pesky flower vendor," she fibbed, "and don't touch a thing!"
    She rushed back to the second half of the deal.
    The Okonomiyaki Ucchan's.
    "AAAAHHH!" The screen door buckled outward, precariously hanging
    off its treads.
    Hiroshi, who was in the lead, stopped and turned to the rest of the
    troop. "Uh... guys?" Another muffled scream, another table-shaped dent.
    "Can't we just go shop first?"
    A chair crashed through a window. "All for it!" They made tracks.
    Nerima has always had a history.
    It is a little known fact that, even now in modern times, these
    tales of olden-time adventures have been kept in record.
    They call her the Storyteller.
    Once in a while, she used to have children come over (no doubt,
    sent over by parents who once were sent over by their parents) to hear
    one of the many stories that filled her mind about her town.
    One that the children have always loved (because it resembled a
    fairy tale more than a tale of feudal Japan) was about the warrior-
    prince.
    "Once upon a time, about the same time when a monk had rescued the
    village from wicked foxes, there was a great and noble prince.
    "(Of course, he was on an errand for his lord and liege, being
    waited for by his ladylove, fair and true. He looked bold and daring on
    his noble steed.)
    "There was an epic battle with a fearsome enemy, and," amidst gasps
    and yelps that were centuries late, "there was a clash of swords that
    rang through the valley for days.
    "And, in the end, the prince fell, defeated. The foe was not a
    merciful one, though. The prince did not die: he fell under a curse."
    Like any other good story, she would stop when the going was
    getting good. "For next time," she'd always say.
    Of course, when they came back, she'd forgotten where she'd left
    off.
    "You've got it all wrong!"
    "What? What have I got all wrong!? WHAT?!"
    "C'mon, Ukyo! It's hard enough talking to you WITHOUT the
    furniture!"
    Ukyo put down the table. "So you're saying that I'm INTOLERABLE?!"
    "Yes! No! Dammit, stop pacing and face me!"
    Her eyes turned into slits. "WHAT DID YOU SAY?!"
    Ryoga shut his mouth and quickly reviewed the last sentence. "Uh,
    I mean, look at me!"
    Turning on her heel, she whipped into a stance of absolutely no
    quarter. They stared.
    "Ooooohhh!" Ukyo turned on her heel, and stomped to the door
    behind the grill.
    Ryoga boggled for a few seconds, before zoning back in. "Uh,
    Ukyo?" He ran to the door behind the grill.
    Tatewaki Kuno, like any young man scorned and confused by Lady
    Luck, went back home to charge up on his flower power, to go for another
    spin.
    Lady Luck, however, wasn't through with him. He took a wrong turn.
    "Why didn't we go and eat HERE in the first place?"
    Hiroshi cringed under the heat of the question. "I... I didn't
    know..."
    Sayuri did that blue aura thing. "I know. YOU wanted to ogle
    Shampoo and Ukyo, didn't you?!"
    "Yes! I mean, no! What's it to YOU, anyway?"
    "Nothing!" Sayuri started to sputter incoherently, a sure sign of
    breakdowns and explosions.
    A firm hand gripped each on the opposite shoulder.
    "I'm hungry," Daisuke intoned.
    "Really, Sayuri," Yuka soothingly said, "you two are starting to
    sound like... y'know..." She rolled her eyes.
    Daisuke broke out in laughter. The others just gave him big eyes.
    He winded out and calmly said, "that's funny."
    In response, his stomach growled.
    The group had a hearty laugh, as they entered the fast-food place.
    A sharp screech of laughter punctured his earshot. He cringed, an
    automatic reaction. He soon unclenched his shoulders, as soon as he
    could determine that they were, in fact, not laughing at his expense.
    "What's the matter, Mousse?"
    Mousse sighed in a resigned manner. "Oh, nothing really."
    From across the set-in table, Kasumi hid a frown. It wasn't that
    hard: Mousse was squinting some nine degrees off. She extracted the
    patties from her Big Wac, placing them neatly in the wrapper, and folded
    that. She noiselessly slid out of the seat.
    Not noiselessly enough for a half-blind martial artist, though.
    "Huh? Kasumi?" He was about to stand up when somebody sidled over,
    blocking his way out.
    Kasumi was minutely aware of the other people.
    With deft hands, she clamped Mousse's finely-muscled shoulders.
    Turning him in a solid and extremely unexpected motion, she had his back
    so vulnerably exposed. She dug deep into it.
    "Say... isn't that Kasumi?"
    Yuka nodded in acknowledgement. "And, isn't that..." *squeak*
    "... Mousse?!"
    With a similar squeal, Sayuri jumped and turned, Hiroshi all but
    forgotten.
    "Okay, okay, let's start over."
    *sigh* "Do we have to?"
    A pause.
    "Of course, of course. What WAS I thinking?"
    "Tsk, tsk. Do I hear a note of SARcasm?"
    *sigh* "It... it's just so..."
    "Demeaning?"
    "No."
    "Debilitating?"
    "Not really."
    "Impossible?"
    "NO WAY!"
    Nabiki shook her head. Three hours of hard work just to get Akane
    to the right temperature, down the sink. She had to a little more choosy
    in deciding what psychological ploy she could use. On making this
    omelet, there were more than just eggs broken.
    The bell sounded.
    "Akane?" Nabiki turned to stop Akane from chopping up another
    soft-boiled egg. "Take five. Could you answer the door? I'll... just,
    uh... clean up here."
    The blue aura disappeared. "Oh... oh, sure, Nabiki." She gingerly
    pushed herself from the disaster area, and began rushing to the door by
    the third chime. Nabiki took a stool and sagged.
    Little Miss Hinako Ninomiya bouncied in. "Oh, hello, Miss Tendo!"
    She fluttered back outside. "Bye!"
    After a few seconds, Akane ambled in.
    Nabiki pointed out the screen door.
    Akane nodded thanks, then ambled out that way.
    "Say... that's pretty, uh, good."
    Kasumi put in just a pinch of smile in her voice. "You're too
    uptight. Father says that martial arts is a combination of movements and
    rests."
    She slowly retracted her hands and shifted slightly backward. "Is
    it... Shampoo?"
    At the mention of the Amazon's name, he recoiled into a knot.
    "Please don't ever mention that... that word."
    Kasumi looked confused. "My, that wouldn't be easy. How would I
    buy some from the grocery?"
    The slip went past Mousse, who looked all the more troubled. With
    urgency, he motioned to slip out of the booth. "I... I've got to go."
    "So soon?" Kasumi sidled outward and bowed to Mousse. "Thank you
    very much for the meal, Mousse. I would like to invite you to eat dinner
    at my father's house." She straightened.
    "Huh?" Mousse had never been invited over... at least not by a
    woman. Not by... did she say like? "Sure, Ms. Kasumi! Thank you!"
    Giddy, he left.
    "What a charming young man," Kasumi said to no one.
    "All your fault. Stupid, macho, stubborn..."
    Ukyo rambled on, muttering, as she reached the door of her room.
    Opening it from the inside, Ryoga "Akk!"ed.
    Ukyo stopped. "What are you doing in my room?" she started
    dangerously.
    Ryoga peered into the face of Fury Hell Hath Nothing On. He wasn't
    backing down now. He whispered, "I'm here to talk... as a friend."
    Silence.
    "You know," Ukyo spoke, "you men are all alike." She chuckled
    softly, a mocking tone. "Friends. Do you know how often I've heard that
    word?"
    Flash: images of a carefree time. She remembered smiling and
    laughing. She remembered her father, her mother, the yattai which was
    their all. Yellowed picture memories.
    Flash: images of a young Ranma came to mind. Already a young man
    at six, bursting with healthy energy. She wondered if children they'd
    have kids would look as adorable, as alive.
    Flash: images of a departing yattai.
    Flash: images of new friends, and a young man who was tied to a
    tree trunk.
    Flash: images of the tree trunk, a yellow ribbon torn.
    Flash: images of the sea, revenge.
    Flash: images of Tsubasa, overlaid by a frilly dress. Images of
    Ryoga, overlaid by a piglet in a girl's arms.
    "Friends never stay friends."
    That said, she closed the door.
    The door slid open.
    From the other end of the room, a Voice spoke. "Come."
    Despite his confusion, he did as he was told.
    The Voice commanded, "sit."
    In the center of the room, a large mat was laid. Threadbare in
    parts, it was obviously well-worn. The room lay in a radiating darkness,
    offset by the fireplace set into the farther side of the room. The
    silhouetted figure, which obviously owned the commanding Voice, turned
    from stoking the flames. "It has been a while... Tatewaki."
    The mention of his name gave him back his ability to think, not
    that it was that much of a whoop. "I... I know you..."
    "As do I you." The figure hobbled over to a chair, and sat itself.
    It Spoke again, "you have come... for a story."
    "No." He shook himself, and started to rise. "I'm afraid... I was
    looking for... some roses to give..."
    "... to one of your true loves."
    He was immediately impressed. "How... how did you know?"
    The Voice laughed, in a small, unassuming (and, at times, painful)
    manner. It ended up coughing. Clearing its throat, the Voice came.
    "There is a story, and you have heard of it: the one with the
    cursed prince. This one, however, is about the princess.
    "On the eve of his fatal battle, the princess gave the prince a
    lock of her hair. 'If,' she said, 'you do not return, may you return
    this when we meet in the afterlife.'
    "'But,' the prince asked, 'if I do return?'
    "'Then, return it to me at our wedding.'
    "With a kiss, she bade him to leave for battle, and to his fate.
    "For days and weeks, she waited for his return, without avail.
    "In his absence, the princess fell ill, as she lost all manner of
    reason for living."
    The Voice paused. "It was at this time that the prince, cursed as
    he was, returned. He feared that he was scarred too much for the
    princess to recognize, and that her rapidly deteriorating health would
    take her from this world too soon.
    "In his desperation, he went to a shugenja, the wizard of the fief.
    Using an oracle, the shugenja saw the prince in his true form.
    "He was told, 'under the light of a blue moon, drink of her, and
    she will see herself in you. She will understand.'
    "Of the lock of hair, they prepared an elixir. And on the blue
    moon... hey, where are you going?"
    Kuno was gone before the figure could stand.
    The Voice sighed. "Young'uns." Grabbing a ladle and a bucket, the
    Voice ambled off into the decaying daylight, onto the street, and she
    splashed and splattered, waiting for the next legend to come along.
    


	16. Herbs and Spices: The Empty House


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 13 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny thanks to whoever saw this.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Day 2
    The Empty House
    Most houses have legends all to their own.
    Since the massive exodus of prehistoric man from the trees, there
    have been stories, passed from generation to generation, of the Earth, of
    its origins, and its history, and of time itself.
    Many a night was spent around a fire (which, no doubt, had had, by
    itself, stories of note) with the organization of a storyteller (or more)
    and of an audience, held captive by the epic and often apocryphal myths
    of the Cause, the Reason, or the Other Things That Had Never Happened.
    The only thing that had really changed was the size of the matter.
    In time, the history of Man had increased in volume. In such, so
    had the stories of Man, and the domicile of Man. The world had grown, in
    a shrinking of units, of an enlargement of capacities, and the homes of
    all of Man's aspects grew in the same manner.
    But the Human House did not just enlarge, appending as a random
    function of time. Much as the Legend was its Soul, the House Matured.
    In the silence of a much dimmed room, one can almost believe that a
    larger, deeper soul breathes.
    Listen. It speaks.
    It wouldn't be hard to believe that the Tendo residence once housed
    nobles and warriors of revered blood. It stood luxurious and expansive,
    simple in design, yet austere and regal in bearing.
    Of course, during the feudal era, Nerima was a mere valley, a
    disinteresting waterhole, whose high point was a set of springs much like
    their mother-springs across the sea. (To which, despite being closed,
    are still connected there: did you think that the carp pond was just a
    carp pond way back when?)
    There was once an inn, though, but that's another story, another
    time.
    In the best-selling and highly regarded reference book "The Hair of
    Care" (Toiletries Press, 489), there is a mention of a tradition of more
    barbaric tribes of yore partaking in the hair of their opponents to have
    insight into the plans of the opponents. (The more sophisticated of
    then-current tribes had the traditions of finer dining, a.k.a.
    cannibalism.) This it attributes to the belief that hair grew out of the
    head, and contained much spiritual and ethereal power.
    It also states a superfluous number of recipes for hair for this
    particular reason. The simplest recipe for hair follows:
    Get hair.
    Get container of soup.
    Place hair in soup.
    Drink in one gulp.
    Belch.
    The recipe was, unsurprisingly, named "Mongolian stew" (some if the
    more interesting Mongolian recipes are for other types of facial hair,
    charred or otherwise boiled off).
    Strangely enough, it makes no mention of love potions from hair.
    In the basement of a building, a small window was spraying the
    afternoon light into a small corner of the room. The corner was empty,
    bereft of life as it was of cover. The grimy floor still has fresh
    tracks, but these were slight, even unobvious. What was more obvious
    though, were the open crates nearby, emptied of their contents. Several
    footprints weren't visible on the steps, trailing the grime, up...
    What is the home?
    It is the fruit of the seed.
    It is not the rind which makes the fruit, it is the soft and spongy
    cushion in which the chrysalis of the heart lays, not dormant yet not at
    all in control.
    What is the home? It is what the mind envisions when at peace.
    What is the home? It is the oasis on the journey that is life.
    What is the home? It is that part of the house that resides in
    Man.
    The midafternoon sun sent tendrils of light into the windows of
    three rooms on the second floor of the only house on the block that was
    also a tactical target. A dusty air scurried into and out of the probing
    strobes, receding into the corners.
    In the room with two sets of windows, the curtains stayed closed.
    A calendar overlooked a neatly fixed bed, a silent airconditioner on the
    other side of the corner. Not too long ago, the potted plant stood
    witness to a written confession in that self-same room.
    On the opposite wall, a bookcase provided much-needed space for odd
    books on first aid, cuisine, herbalism and fairy tales. One would not
    see the space one occupied by rows of lightweight fare; they were just
    displaced, without any intention of returning.
    The drawers were empty: indeed, there was nothing to hide.
    Several flat-soled shoes, plus one pair of simple heeled shoes,
    were lined up under the shelves.
    A cabinet stayed closed, sentry to the openings and closings of the
    door. Aside from that, and a almost unused dresser, the room was nearly
    empty, a mere waystation and lodging.
    A door slid open noiselessly.
    In the unlit room, the hallway light casted a pillar onto the wall,
    then the television set, then the playstation, then the floor, lightly
    touching several books scattered on the floor.
    "Hunh, still in the library. I wondered why it was so quiet."
    There is a house, somewhere in Tokyo, which is often empty.
    A woman lives there, a mother and a wife.
    She sometimes wonders if the house would come crashing to the
    ground; she fancies herself a believer in the "a house is not a home"
    theory.
    She rarely dreams of the house. The house rarely dreams of her.
    In fact, the house rarely dreams: when it does, it is usually the
    same dream, over and over.
    The house dreams of the night: not just any night, it is a night
    which it is not empty.
    It dreams of the night of the other people.
    It dreams, over and over, wondering about the children taken away
    from their parents.
    It dreams, and sleeps.
    For once, the Kuno mansion was completely empty.
    Principal Kuno, of course, was in Hawaii, a much-unlamented fact.
    He was rarely missed in the household; indeed, he was rarely missed in
    Nerima. His penchant for causing construction sites endless trouble
    (what with surfing down rubble-waves, from gravel piles) and his frequent
    barber-shop raids have already made him notorious throughout companies in
    the district.
    Tatewaki Kuno was struck by a scheme by which to claim the heart of
    either Akane Tendo or the pigtailed girl, and thus could not be bothered
    by housesitting.
    Kodachi Kuno was not available for interview at this point.
    Sasuke, the head (and only regular) manservant, has been busy
    chasing the escaped Mr. Turtle, who, as soon as it was revived and freed
    from its bonds, fled to find food through the plumbing of the hot springs
    of the Kuno estate (which should be noted as being artificial, and have
    never had magical shapechanging properties). However, since Tatewaki
    Kuno was concurrently questing, it was a surety that Sasuke would drop
    the hunt in order to aid, abet, and generally be accomplice to whatever
    was necessary to see it through.
    Mr. Turtle was, in fact, washed out to the river.
    The other, unnamed househands (unique only up to laugh quality),
    shared two singular qualities: one, having been victimized the explosion
    of Kodachi aphrodisiac experiments of yesterday, and, two, being all
    female. These two traits caused them to follow the first male in the
    household they could find: thus, unbeknownst to him, Sasuke was being
    chased by the rest of the aforementioned household help.
    Thereby, the Kuno estate was completely empty, from end to end. Of
    course, there was no fear of burglary, as the house itself was a virtual
    deathtrap.
    Nonetheless, it is crucial to mention that, because Kodachi (along
    with Tsubasa) came home a little after dinnertime, no one was able to
    view or, later, locate the meteorite that fell smack-dab in the middle of
    Mr. Turtle's pond.
    A few steps, and: "AAGGHH!"
    Immediately, the scream stopped. Outside the door of the Ucchan's,
    the sound of a head hitting wood slowly, deliberately.
    As in any tight knit neighborhood, people moving into and out of
    the area would always attract attention: after all, it's kind of hard
    not to notice those moving trucks as they crowd into the small streets.
    "Yes, I think that that's all of it. Thank you very much."
    The young woman wrapped her arms around the young man's muscled one
    as she stared at the lot beyond the tall gates. He, on the other hand,
    was busy outlining his plans for the wide space in the back yard of the
    house, possibly a training hall or some such. She sighed into his arm:
    at last, their marriage seemed completed short of the pitter-patter of
    small knees crawling around their feet.
    People started coming into the knot that was building in front of
    the old inn that old lady Tendo was housekeeping. She hadn't exactly
    been the housekeeping type, actually; some of the Nerima parties were
    passed within the confines of the lot. It showed: the grass grew wild
    in the backyard, but trampled in spots. Even the pond seemed neglected,
    as moss was covering the bottom, giving it a greenish tinge. But it
    seemed healthy, alive... the foliage was coming for vengeance. They
    would only find that out later, but find out they would.
    The young man felt a tap on his shoulder.
    With his martial arts reflexes, he immediately swiped his wife from
    off her feet, and turned to his tormenting mast-
    "Hello."
    They blink-blinked at the short-sleeved-kimono-wearing old lady.
    She waved her ladle in the air with a flair and pointed at them. "BOO!
    Heeeeeeh, heh, scared you, didn't I?" She laughed loudly.
    The young woman clambered down her stiffened and shocked husband,
    who was crying through unclosing eyes. "Uh... we're sorry."
    Straightening, she bowed at the waist. "We must introduce ourselves.
    We're..."
    "The Tendo newlyweds. Yes, yes. Congratulations, of course." She
    made swish-swish movements with her ladle (spraying layers of minute
    drops) and flashed a toothy grin, in a way to gesture... something.
    "Well... Nabiki..."
    "Yes..." He finally fell out of his stupor, recognizing the name.
    "Yes, grandaunt did write about her friend... so, you're the famous
    Storyteller of Nerima?"
    "Shuckin's," the Storyteller replied demurely, "I knew Nabiki would
    do that. Now, my reputation's in shambles."
    "Why's that?" the younger woman played along.
    "Well, you can't be a storyteller with being a visionary. And here
    I was, trying my hand out at prediction-making." She tsk-tsked at her
    apparent loss.
    The young man followed his wife's lead. "Of course, of course, we
    realize. Forgive us. Um... are you making daily horoscopes?"
    She belted an even fiercer laugh into the young man's face. "Stop
    confusing astrology for clairvoyance! Science is a very heartless
    oracle, the stars even more! No, no... what was I saying?"
    The couple had little sweatbeads on their napes. The young woman
    was the one who recovered faster: "uh, Grand-aunt Nabiki..."
    "Oh, yeah, that's right... Nabiki and I have this little wager
    going..."
    The young man goggled, "betting on the future?"
    His wife bonked him some.
    "Actually," the old woman said morosely, "yes. We're betting on
    YOUR future."
    The second room over in the second floor of the Tendo household has
    the air of being in the exact middle of change. Strewn about in some
    places were pieces of paper and assorted cloth and clothing, overlaid on
    the order underneath. The bedsheets were as straight as a ruler's edge,
    but the blankets left waves that lingered.
    A bookcase stood over the bed, filled with all sorts of tomes on
    actuarial science, abstract algebra, life contingencies and differential
    calculus. In between these heavy texts, several smaller, lighter novels
    sit comfortably out of plain sight. And in between those, important
    information on unassuming corners of paper, in-between words of burning
    passion and righteous love.
    A clipboard unobtrusively hung on the side of the case announced
    the "Things to Be Done", but the slate was clean. The desk from which it
    was most visible had a smaller line of books on it and an imposing
    painting hanging right above it. Most of the time, the desk was
    cluttered will little notes and all, scribblings of... well, things best
    left unknown. Now, it lain pristine and, most of all, storiless.
    The cabinet on the other side was tall enough for the box on top to
    be obscured from anyone who isn't looking for it, most importantly the
    owner of the contents. As they say, out of sight, out of mind. The said
    owner was only peripherally aware of it, much in the way that she was
    aware that it took up space and shifted the path of the currents in her
    room and in her life.
    A medium-height-backed chair, a cassette player/recorder, and the
    occasional boxes and rugs littered themselves in an upright manner in the
    room. Framed pictures studded the walls, as though in an effort to
    surround the room with faces and memories.
    All of it, epitomized by a small doll inside the box, which did not
    and was not what it seemed, but was that way, anyway.
    A few steps, and: "AAGGHH!"
    Immediately, the scream stopped. Outside the Ucchan's, the sound
    of a head hitting wood slowly, deliberately, on the second floor.
    The sound of running water, and porcelain.
    Kuno's mind worked in mysterious and easily controlled ways.
    While not exactly your high speed processor, the neural links are
    there, it's just that there's so much traffic. Not because there are so
    many things running through it, just that the roads are kind of skinny in
    parts.
    Be that as it may, there are still some creative enough connections
    that would make the ride pretty interesting. For example, the only thing
    connected to "watermelon" was a clump of complicatedly bunched together
    motor neurons. "Family" would shunt a reduction of endomorphine in the
    hypothalamus, and "magic" was well-associated with "science", as were the
    concepts of "poverty", "weakness" and "oompah-loompah". His ego was very
    in touch with his superego, but the latter rubbed elbows with his id,
    which made for a somewhat dysfunctional set-up. A whole bunch of words
    were in linked lists to the tune of Shakespeare's sonnets, and the verbal
    part of his right brain was locked into that pool.
    The way that it stored information was through stories: it would
    create, word for word, a new linked list, as the story unfolds. This
    causes two problems: the download time for information would be kind of
    large, and cross-referencing would be troublesome.
    Three actually; that would mean that all information was to be
    taken in the literal and chronological arrangement that it was given.
    A corner stood in the darkening atmosphere, the target of one, and
    the takeoff of another. Thus, they were unable to meet.
    The blue moon is the Western astrological concept of the rare (once
    in every 33 months) occurrence of two full moons in a single month. As
    the moon has an effect on the tides and has often been cited to cause
    crazy sicknesses like lunacy and lycanthropy, as well as aiding the
    powers of witches and warlocks through the Greek goddess Hecate (or is
    that vice-versa?), such changes in the phases of the moon have caused
    enough ruckus to make them see rabbits in it. It bases itself quite
    unfairly on the way that a month is named (much is a difference of the
    Western based Julian and, later, Gregorian calendars with the Chinese
    lunar calendars, which are based on the phases of the moon, and quite the
    fashion in Asia during the 16th and 17th century), and actually did not
    exist during the feudal period of Asia. Straighter to the point yet, a
    shugenja could not possibly name an arbitrary full moon a blue moon.
    Needless to say, changes in culture prescribe an updating of
    stories. Also needless to say, that night's moon was actually waning
    gibbous.
    "Now, there, Nabiki... have some fun with Akane, now..."
    "Yes, Mom..."
    "Yes, Mommy..."
    Nabiki looked at the receding back of Kimiko Tendo, and pulled out
    the scissors she was planning to play with. Akane's eyes widened,
    fascinated by the glinting metal edges as they caught the afternoon sun.
    "Ooohh..."
    Nabiki pulled the shears from her youngest sister's vicinity.
    "Akane, you know you're not allowed to play with these."
    Akane pouted, "you're not supposed to..."
    "If," Nabiki said, pulling out the newspaper, "you keep quiet, I'll
    let you use it..."
    Akane widened her eyes, and nodded wordlessly.
    Kasumi was just outside Akane and Nabiki's room when she heard the
    bawl.
    With heightened/frightened senses, she opened the door wide.
    "WHAT'S WRONG??"
    Nabiki didn't turn.
    The scissors lain on the floor, as though dropped.
    Akane cried, as though in pain.
    "NABIKI!"
    Nabiki turned sheepishly. "Aww... Kasumi..."
    Kasumi looked stunned. "I can't beLIEVE you're taking this so...
    dumbly!"
    Akane increased her pitch, apparently forgotten by her elder
    sisters. Kasumi calmly put a hand on their baby sister's shoulder,
    unable to make "there, there" noises, mostly because her mouth was geared
    in another direction.
    "You... your..."
    Nabiki put a hand to the side of her head. "It's not that bad..."
    Akane redoubled her efforts.
    "Not that bad?" Kasumi whispered, out of Akane's earshot.
    "Nabiki, if you wanted a free haircut, you could have asked me." Putting
    down the book she was holding, and took up the scissors. Licking her
    lips, she took her last look of Nabiki's well-cared-for ponytails, and
    made decisive cuts.
    Akane stopped crying, fixated on the bonding occurring. Because
    she was only five, and didn't know squat about bonding or the importance
    of hair to a girl, so: "Me! Me, too!"
    Nabiki shushed her. "Your hair's already short, Akane."
    "But I want Kasumi-neechan to cut it!"
    Kasumi gave the final touch on to the sides. "There." She started
    picking up the hairs which piled itself at their feet. "How about you,
    A... Akane?"
    The black-haired girl held the two endpieces of ponytail. Bound,
    they looked like hula skirts topped with round pink coconuts. "I'm
    sorry."
    Nabiki smiled, a wistful grin. "It's okay. Hey, look, I'm sure
    Kasumi-neechan can make some pretty dolls out of those..."
    Akane looked askance from Nabiki to the eldest. "True?"
    Kasumi nodded. "True."
    Akane turned to Nabiki, handing out a piece. "You have this one...
    it IS your hair."
    Nabiki took it, sharing a look with Kasumi, and they hugged their
    little sister.
    The young lady didn't quite hear. "You're betting on what?"
    The Storyteller laughed. "Yours." She took out a folded piece of
    paper. "Seems that Nabiki doesn't really believe in predestination, and
    all that. I just think that things don't really change."
    The man pointed at the paper. "Is that...?"
    "The list of predictions I made regarding this empty house that
    stands before you. What would happen to its next owners, that's you
    folks, listed in chronological order." She opened it, revealing a rather
    long list, indeed.
    The young man sighed. "Well, it seems like we'll live long,
    fruitful lives here, eh?"
    "Oh, yes, yes. You, your children, your children's children... the
    name Tendo will prosper in this house, for generations to come. Says so
    in line #361." She gave the list to the young newlyweds, the young man
    taking it.
    The younger woman wondered. "How did you make these predictions?
    Not without any astrological devices, that is?"
    "Simple," she said, simply, "I asked Nabiki what happened to your
    family as far back as she could. It's all fractal, you see. Recursive,
    detail mimics portrait."
    "Come again?"
    "History repeats itself."
    The young man scratched his nape. "I don't recall anyone in the
    family who's gone to China."
    "Ah... the process is reiteration, not repetition. It doesn't need
    to be exactly the same with anything that has happened, it just has to
    seem so." She yawned, then pointed to a line in the list. "I don't
    think anyone in your lineage has been offered a royal marriage twice,
    now. Neither has there been anyone who became younger, or made insane."
    The male nodded, committing the data to memory, not really
    concerning himself with the authenticity of the information. Half good,
    half bad, not that bad, then.
    The Storyteller took back the list, gingerly folding it. "Oh,
    well. It's getting late, and I've got to cook some dinner." She waved,
    winking at the settling-in couple. "I'll be keeping a close eye on you,
    count on it."
    


	17. Herbs and Spices: Fourteen Snakes and La...


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 14 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny-weeny thanks to whoever else
    even saw this. I have no need to remind you that this is Day 2, right?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Fourteen Snakes and Ladders
    Soun opened the sliding door quickly, and jumped into the house,
    turning his head left and right. "Hello?" He wondered what had happened
    while they had been out. Most of all, he was worried that there wasn't
    anything to eat; they weren't able to grab anything the whole time they
    were out.
    "Kasumi?"
    For the first time in a long time, the two most prosperous
    specialty restaurants in Nerima were both closed before the dusk. While,
    in the integrated commercial and residential housing scheme, they both
    had a fiancée (or alleged wife) of one Ranma Saotome, who were both
    asleep, were both crossed (jilted?) by another male (other than Ranma,
    that is), were both were denying it to the male, and were mostly denying
    the same to themselves, one would wonder if these were not the only
    eating establishments that had the privilege of having beautiful young
    women on their payroll with a healthy interest in martial arts in
    general, and one martial artist in particular. After all, this is Nerima
    we are talking about here, and, while Nerima naturally abhors a vacuum,
    it murderously despises a lack of premarital tension.
    Let A by this heretofore-anonymous woman. For the sake of the
    argument, say she's old enough to be within Ranma's age range, with
    enough maturity for martial arts training and must understand the concept
    of marriage: about twelve to twenty years old. Because the Cat Cafe and
    the Ucchan's are both closed systems, A must be working at some other
    large-scale food-dispenser, like, say, WcDonald's; working at WcDonald's
    would at least give A twenty-two secret herbs and spices, better-to-equal
    footing with either Shampoo or (heaven forbid) Kodachi.
    She would have to know a distinctly unique martial arts style.
    While she could possibly get off learning a relatively more widespread
    discipline, like tae kwon do, judo, or shaolin, it would be more likely
    that, if A were to have a sincere fascination in Mr. R. S., and an equal
    interest in martial arts, she would either be more inclined to follow in
    the path of kung fu (or kempo), with its acceptance and assimilation of
    other disciplines, or less interested in the logistics of the art,
    fascinated with the aesthetic form of his execution. The latter would
    leave A further and further in terms of commonality. However, if A were
    to be of a different discipline altogether, she would be excused from
    feeling threatened, as he would not be likely to better A in her field.
    It is extremely unlikely that A would not know anything about
    Ranma's situation, like his gender-bending, or his multiple affiances.
    The following example should prove substantial to that end:
    "Say, A, how's work?"
    "Kind of tiring, really. I'm glad I pulled cashier duty today."
    "Did you hear the latest? It's about... you-know-who..."
    A props her chin on her arm, dreamily envisioning the young man.
    "What about... him?"
    "There was this new teacher in school, really... sexy type."
    A raises an eyebrow. "He likes older women?"
    "Well, she actually looks more of like a kid."
    The other eyebrow. "He likes younger women?"
    "With him stringing along Akane Tendo, goddess of Furinkan?"
    Counting off her fingers, A enumerated her rivals, "or that Amazon,
    or that okonomiyaki cook..."
    A shiver. "Or that Kuno girl."
    "Did he have a fight?"
    "That's where I was getting to. He had to fight that teacher, but
    he had to be a she..."
    And so on.
    Thus, A had to be a practitioner of either kempo or a martial art
    that Ranma himself had not successfully mastered, and possibly known
    about his curses. So, then, what stops A from placing her claims on
    Ranma, as much of his suitresses already have?
    Of course, there is the ever-present tension of the other
    claimants. Only in the confines of a cafeteria can the same conflict be
    affected. Unless she had yet undiscovered skill, or further unclear
    conflicts, romantic or otherwise, she would most likely be of an
    altogether lower class than the more prominent female figures in Nerima.
    Or, most importantly, maybe it was clashing with one (or more) of her
    major principles.
    With that definition, it must be quite obvious that A does not only
    exist, but she had already been woven into the story, long, long ago.
    The only problem was that she, too, now has several suitors to consider.
    In a second floor room in the Tendo home, a rustling would have
    alerted no one, or at least it should have. A figure rustled in the
    nooks and crannies, desperate for a particular type of tool.
    "How much do I need anyhow?" the blur muttered to itself in
    blurspeak, which sounded like your everyday Japanese in doublespeed (its
    North American counterpart being chipmunkspeak). It rummaged the cabinet
    in a secure-return-rearrange manner, starting to acquire a frantic edge
    to its search. The fading sunlight did not help much, and it said, "what
    now? The master will be furious, I, I... what's that?"
    Across the room, on top of the bookcase, a very unassuming figure
    sat. The blur smiled, took the figure, and dashed out of the window, and
    into the sunset.
    It also forgot to close the window.
    The meteorite floated like a buoy in the middle of Mr. Turtle's
    pond. Not that he would mind.
    Ryoga slipped again.
    "Oh! Darn! AAAGGGHH! Stupid! SHH!" He quickly reprimanded
    himself for almost letting go of the plate, almost screaming out loud,
    eventually shouting, and being such a forgetful idiot, in that order.
    This was all because he couldn't find a way out of the Ucchan's, was
    stuck in Ukyo's makeshift kitchen (the one on the second floor), was
    currently cleaning plates, waiting for... well, he assumed until Ukyo
    would wake up, so that she could tell him how to get out. Of course,
    this entailed that he was not, in fact, trying to wake her up, because
    that would put her in a far worse mood than she had been in earlier.
    Why was she in such a huff earlier? It seemed apparent that she
    wasn't angry over the fact that he and P-chan were one and the same. (He
    imagined her smacking him around a bit, much like what Ranma would do
    when he... better not go there...) She did leave the kettle there for
    him. So what was the problem? Was he supposed to take it and run?
    He stopped his arms from its movements, focussing on the line of
    thought. Did she think that that's what he would do? Leave her in the
    lurch? Wait, wait. She wasn't in any danger... was she?
    Digging deeper, he tried to recall the details of earlier. She was
    behind her grill, he came in, her eyes widened with a mix of relief and
    anger and longing, she ran up to him, pushing him to the floor, tearing
    off his clothes, and hers, and... eh-heh-heh. Ryoga tried shoving the
    daydream to as far a corner of his mind as he could. He wiped the trail
    of blood down to his upper lip.
    A face. A completely forgettable, nondescript face of a man. He
    was looking in from the outside.
    The image from his mind faded as, with anything that he tried to
    direct, the daydream got lost and came back to the foreground of his
    mind.
    "Great-granddaughter."
    Shampoo wiped oversleep from her eyes. "Great-grandmother? You
    here already?"
    "Mousse... where is Mousse?"
    The mention of Mousse's name somehow caused Shampoo to yawn, but
    the sound she made came out strangled. She patted her tears away. "I no
    care what Mousse say," Shampoo barely whispered.
    "Hunh?" Cologne thought she heard, but wasn't quite sure.
    "I no care where Mousse go," Shampoo said, firmly, and quickly
    walked away.
    Cologne did not bother to follow. She shook her head darkly, and
    turned to make a fast inventory check.
    In the Gosunkugi household, a window opened.
    A figure slowly crept its way in through the window, making sure to
    not to step on anything.
    "Is that you, Hikaru?"
    Gosunkugi sighed. "Yes, mom."
    "Come on down, so we can have our dinner."
    He carefully placed the folder on top of the TV. "Okay, mom."
    Kasumi leaned onto the fence overlooking the river, pondering the
    red-eye sun. It seemed swollen with loss, tired by its long journey.
    She opened the letter she had wanted to talk to Dr. Tofu about, the one
    she had picked up yesterday. It didn't seem like it was something you
    told your mother, unless one had a long-drawn, poetic and beautiful...
    Oedipus complex. "Dr. Tofu..." she sighed, very slightly shaking her
    head in a rueful manner. She returned it within the confines of the new
    book she had borrowed, and made her way back home.
    "Augh. Pain. Can't. Move."
    "C'mon, Nabiki. You can do it."
    Nabiki grit her teeth. "Easy. For. You. To. Ugh. Say."
    "At least she's gone."
    "So. She. Is."
    Soun entered the kitchen. "Hello?"
    "Dad! Daaaaaadd!"
    "I'm. Not. Demeaning. Myself."
    Soun covered his eyes in an effort to scour the farther ends of the
    room with better luck. "Kasumi? Nabiki? Akane?"
    Akane turned to Nabiki, desperate. "C'mon, Nabiki."
    "Sigh. Dad!"
    Soun's ears picked up the summons. He ran over to the other side
    of table. There, propped up against the legs of the chair, and against
    each other were Akane and Nabiki. "Daughters!" The waterworks began.
    "Told. You."
    The plumbing in Nerima has been known to be a notoriously complex
    system. Despite the great literary examples of explorations of the water
    and wasteways (indeed, one could spend thirty pages on the topic, just to
    explain how there could be a Japanese nannichuan), we aren't really
    concerned with that type of thing. What we are concerned with, however,
    is how a fully grown alligator can use this system to get from a set of
    artificial hot springs to the river.
    The Kuno household, despite its looks, is not a 16th century
    building, not a powerful tie to the past, and not an inheritance from
    rich and powerful ancestors. In fact, not too long before the Tendos
    Soun and Kimiko came into Nerima, the whole block comprising Kuno's
    estate was where the police headquarters was once located. (No, they
    weren't bought out of the district. They police headquarters was
    relocated. Yes, on the quieter side of Nerima. Near a small donut shop,
    one might think.)
    How could a block with the police headquarters fit well with the
    plumbing scheme? Well, it was right next to a public bath...
    In any case, the initial layout had been set by Kuno and the head
    servant at that time, who was Sasuke's ninja master. They had agreed to
    design the house and lot with feudal flavor as it was a) easier to
    install traps and their ilk, b) Kuno's hobby at the time, and c) just
    kewl.
    At first, it seemed easier to assimilate the buildings that were
    already there. The bathhouse would have easily been converted into the
    hot springs, the police building into the main house. However, the
    paranoia of the servant (and the sheer kookiness of the elder Kuno),
    caused them to excavate most of the block.
    (This is also the reason why, in reparation for his single-handedly
    advancing the construction industry in the area, the principal spends
    time annoying work crews. Luckily, the area was not even close to where
    the Japanese Jusenkyo springs once were. If they were, they would have
    discovered the horrible reason as to why the Japanese branch of the
    franchise was closed down. Also, that area would have to have pretty
    rotten topsoil, anyway.)
    Thus, the traps that used water, especially the one which was
    inspired by the invention of the washing machine, were all linked into
    the water systems.
    Having said all that, the following conjectures illustrate how a
    full-grown alligator could be flushed into the river:
    - having gotten loose from his bounds, Mr. Turtle, the full-grown
    alligator in question, ambles into the washing machine trap.
    - the female household help (total household help minus Sasuke) all
    realize that they are in love with Sasuke, and all decide to take a bath.
    - the water, having been siphoned into the trap, taps out of the
    showers being used.
    - out of sheer spite, the disgruntled bathers flush the nearby
    toilets.
    - inside the washing machine trap, the spin cycle is set to high.
    The water temperature reaches bathtub levels.
    - in the true fashion of the reptile family, Mr. Turtle taps his
    inner calm and Heaven-Blasts (in this case, of the Alligator) sending
    itself and hundreds upon hundreds of gallons of hot water through the
    roof of the trap, and heavenwards.
    - the hot water falls back to earth in the form of hot rain.
    - Mr. Turtle lands in the river.
    Of course, further investigation could clarify the iffy bits.
    "Hello?" Mousse called again, shifting in his place. Certainly,
    he could still be early for dinner, but it was important for impression's
    sake. He waited outside the door, more apprehensive because of it.
    "Pop!" Ranma hissed. "I'm hungry already!"
    "Shut your mouth, boy! We're not going in until we know it's
    safe!" Genma took a long, hard look at his grumbling son (the ill-
    mannered lout). "You don't see me complaining."
    "Oh, yeah, right. Like you had to use your ki to blast that little
    freak of nature into orbit."
    Genma immediately took the point. "A true martial artist takes on
    each challenge as though it were his last."
    "Now what's THAT supposed to -"
    "Your mother might be in there."
    Ranma "oh"ed, and shut up.
    "Master Kuno?"
    Kuno didn't bother to look around, knowing that the ninja will
    appear at his summons. "What is it, Sasuke? Have you gotten what I have
    asked of you?"
    A blur ended at his feet. Sasuke prostrated himself, and pushed
    his hands forward, presenting a token. "H-here it is, Master Kuno."
    Kuno picked up the doll. "You fool! This is a doll!"
    "B-but, Master, look! Under the skirt!"
    "Silence, wretch! You would have the great Tatewaki Kuno, skein of
    the house of Kuno, Blue Thunder of Furinkan High, look up a doll's
    skirt?!"
    "It's not really a doll, Master! Here!"
    Shoving the skirt up (without letting the noble and pure Kuno heir
    see a thing), he tickled his master's face with the ends.
    "Desist!" Sasuke promptly acquiesced, and Kuno took the doll.
    Right after he had a weird grin on his face, he began laughing like a
    madman, and shaking the tree just beyond the Tendo dojo, saying, "at
    last, I shall have you, Akane Tendo! True love will triumph! Saotome,
    your black magic will ensnare her no longer!"
    Sasuke just wondered. "But, Master, what shall we do with it?"
    "That's it, pop. I've gotta get some grub."
    "Suit yourself. Just as long as you don't go in the house."
    "Sh'yeah. Right."
    The night has always been the opponent of purity, of light. The
    night was the realm of Nyx, of Loki, and occasionally, Hecate and the
    other goddesses of the moon. Without the guiding (and all-encompassing)
    sun in the sky, the stars tended to screw up with Man's natural onboard
    navigational systems, which served to direct them to their right and true
    path.
    In Nerima, there is a singularity of sorts. Being the second most
    improbable place in the universe, the normalcy factor had been out of
    whack, anyway. However, this singularity works, as any black hole would,
    in the darkness of space.
    It may be of interest to note that this singularity is greatly
    affected by its environment, and hiccups at a few minutes to three in the
    morning. It also just crash-landed back into Nerima territory earlier in
    the day.
    "Good evening, Mousse."
    "Eh? K-Kasumi..."
    Kasumi bowed. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to meet you. Have you been
    waiting long?"
    "N-not really. S-shall we -"
    "KASUMI!!!" Soun barreled out the door, slamming into Mousse,
    sending the latter face-first into the ground.
    "Oh my." Kasumi went to help Mousse pick-up the assorted
    containers of herbs and spices.
    Miss Hinako Ninomiya wove her way home to her apartment, and
    focussed her depression into beating the crap out of a caped, red-wearing
    villain.
    Ukyo woke up to the sound of crashing.
    "What in the world?"
    "Uh... uh, Ukyo?"
    Her eyes slimmed to angry slits. "Ryoga."
    "D-don't look at me like that."
    There was a genuine fear in his voice, one that called to her more
    caring, more amiable nature. At least her less suspicious, less violent
    one. "Ryoga... what are you doing there?"
    "I... I know you were angry at me earlier..."
    She cringed slightly. "Let's... let's just forget about that, for
    now..." Was he in the kitchen? That's where it seemed to be coming
    from.
    "Eh-heh. I... I mean, I... I know you... like me..."
    Her annoyance meter notched up one. "So what if I like you?" She
    finally felt like getting out of bed, and did so.
    "I mean, I like you, too."
    If it wasn't for the almost cavalier way that Ryoga said that,
    Ukyo's heart might have actually skipped a beat, and she would have
    stopped for a breather. As it was, her heart just b-bumped a bit. "What
    are you saying?"
    "C-can't we... just take it slow? Give each other time to think?
    We can't afford to have Ranma and Akane together, right? After all this
    time."
    "Ryoga," Ukyo said slowly, "if it's a toss-up between someone my
    heart tells me is already lost, and someone it tells me I'm in danger of
    losing... Ryoga... I think you know who I'd choose."
    Silence.
    "UKYO!" Ryoga screamed. "GET YOUR HAND OUTTA MY PANTS!!"
    "WHAT!?" Ukyo shouted.
    "WHAT!?" Ranma shouted, falling off of the lamppost.
    "It's so nice of you to bring something for dinner," Kasumi was
    saying cheerily, cradling the containers in the crooks of her arms.
    Mousse was sure, in the back of his mind, that this was not the
    reason why he brought potentially dangerous, mind-altering, body-
    confusing, highly classified condiments. He wanted to spit in the face
    of his tormentors, payback for years of dignity and freedom lost. Blind
    rage, he reasoned, was all he had.
    If it took him that much closer to happiness, he was more than
    willing to agree. "Just something to liven up your meals with, K-
    Kasumi."
    "Anytime now, Tendo. You can give the go signal anytime, now."
    Hikaru Gosunkugi closed the door to his room, and locked it. He
    knew he should have at least closed the curtains on the window, as
    witchcraft often required the caster to be naked (or, at most, wearing
    just a robe). Lighting a candle, he took out the pentagram/futon from
    his set-in cabinet, and pulled out several tomes.
    "I just hope that it doesn't require any demonic... interaction."
    The window creaked open.
    "Huh?"
    A diminutive ninja opened the window fully, then crouched below the
    sill. In seconds, a larger, more bulky figure made his way through,
    making sure to step on the ninja.
    "Greetings, magician." Kuno flicked his hair in a manner made to
    impress women, thus merely made Gosunkugi "piku-piku" some. "I, Tatewaki
    Kuno, noble and righteous heir to the Kuno line, rising star of the high
    school fencing world, known in circles as the Blue Thunder of Furinkan
    High, have arrived... to ask for a favor."
    "Huh?"
    "Kasumi..." Soun wailed.
    "Oh, dad..." Akane trailed weakly.
    "Oh, brother..." Nabiki trailed weakly. "Hi, sis."
    "My, I'm sorry to keep you waiting. You all must be terribly
    hungry." She took a step forward, hand on the door to the kitchen.
    "NO!" the three other Tendos shouted, surprising Mousse, who was
    just to her side.
    Kasumi opened the door.
    The black smoke that had been piling up in the room found its way
    out, clearing a view of the carnage that lay within. Pots, pans, plates,
    the oven, quail feathers, a layer of eggshells, tomatoes, pickles, salad
    oil, vinegar, mayonnaise, ketchup, mustard, vegemite, and a large amount
    of quail eggyolk could possibly make a larger mess than it did in that
    room, but it made up for it with some impressive spots of destructive
    genius.
    Kasumi covered her face with a kerchief, and turned to her family.
    "Please wait thirty minutes," she gamely said, returning Mousse's
    bottles to him, and closed the door.
    


	18. Herbs and Spices: Fifteen, Going on Sixt...


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 15 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny-weeny thanks to whoever else
    even saw this. I have no need to remind you that this is Day 2, right?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Fifteen, Going on Sixteen
    [This chapter comes after the fourteenth chapter, "Fourteen Snakes
    and Ladders" and before chapter sixteen, "4X4 FWD/RWD" in days two and
    three of the Herbs and Spices story-arc of Switch. For convenience, it
    is written in chronological sequence. Incidentally, it comes before the
    side story "Three White Lies", but the contiguity between these two
    segments is somewhat dubious. It is suggested to avoid this paragraph,
    as it has nothing to do with the rest of the chapter, as marked by the
    square brackets used to start and end it.]
    "Who'd'a thunk?" Ranma said, feeling mighty giggly. He knew Ukyo
    could be a little... aggressive, sometimes, but, that was with him, and
    they've known each other for, what? Ten years. And here comes Ryoga...
    they just met, didn't they?
    Ranma stopped in his excited coming-back-to-the-Tendo's walk.
    Naah... they didn't even recognize each other when they first met. Ranma
    walked on, still giddy.
    Of course, we all know that, if they didn't announce their
    intentions, or their acquaintance, people always know at first glance if
    they were childhood friends once.
    Outside the Tendo household, a soda can dispensing machine bumped
    into the lamppost. "Sorry."
    "Where are the Saotomes, Mr. Tendo?" Mousse started politely.
    It had seemed a reasonably harmless topic to start off on. After
    all, Mousse had no deep-seated anger with the pigtailed boy (or, at
    least, none that he could care to remember), and, most importantly, did
    not have anything to do with elder daughters.
    Soun clamped a mouth onto the Hidden Weapons master's obviously
    dangerous weapon. "Shh!!" Looking right and left, he shoved the
    tunicked martial artist into the waiting room.
    Akane and Nabiki looked at each other. "What was that...?"
    Soun cracked the door just so he could come-hither his finger at
    them.
    Shrugging, they entered the room.
    "What's this about, Daddy?"
    Akane was a little less sure. "Where ARE they, Dad?"
    Soun huddled them over the table, Mousse still clutching the jars
    and shakers to his chest, which sort of made his posture equal to the
    Tendo sisters.
    "Nabiki. Akane. Is... she around?"
    Akane blinked. How could he... then again, with the tired looks on
    their faces, the hapless and helpless way they seemed drained on the
    floor of the toxic confines of the kitchen.... "She was here, earlier,
    Dad. But she left a while ago. Why?"
    Soun nodded gravely, then sighed deeply. So, Genma was right...
    how fortunate that they had been spared... he gave a small thought to the
    Saotome wife. "Genma and Ranma were worried that she would catch them
    here."
    Nabiki nodded. Miss Hinako did mention that she was looking for
    her "favorite delinquent". As for Genma... well, the little teacher
    would be quite a handful for any panda. "I can see why they were
    worried. Too bad they couldn't have been worried us, eh, Akane?"
    Akane just wanted to know, "so WHERE are they?"
    Soun shrugged. "They said that they'd get dinner somewhere else...
    and sleep over in the park or next to the river."
    Nabiki eyed him slightly. "Wouldn't that be 'if she was here'?"
    Soun's eyes widened.
    Akane pushed herself away, knowing what was coming. In the same
    vein, Nabiki pushed Mousse by the shoulders. She noticed the containers
    he clutched so tightly. "Can't you... disappear those things?"
    Akane took charge, placing them carefully under the table.
    Soun dam gave way.
    "WILL YOU TELL ME JUST WHAT THE *HELL* THAT WAS?!?!"
    Ryoga found himself cowering into the corner of Ukyo's kitchen, in
    which the refrigerator was already crowded into. Ukyo's crimson aura
    dripped clear and painful death, probably by drawing and quartering.
    "WHY WOULD *MY* HAND BE IN *YOUR* PANTS, EH?!"
    Make that basting and pasting.
    "YOU... *PERVERT*!!"
    He didn't want to do it... but she wasn't giving him any choice.
    "RYOGA HIBIKI, FINAL ATTACK!"
    "What?" Ukyo said, immediately distracted by the resistance.
    Ryoga put his hand a few inches from her face, palm out.
    "AAAAAAAAAAAA... GENKI DAMAAA!!!"
    "YAugh!" Ukyo pushed herself away from the hand, fearful of
    whatever would come out.
    Ryoga waved. "Hope you're feeling better!" With that, he kicked a
    nearby bucket, making himself a less-viable target, and ran as fast as
    his hash could take him.
    "Jeez... Dad..."
    "I don't know!" Soun wailed.
    "And it's still fifteen minutes to Kasumi's deadline." Nabiki
    wondered. "You've got anything to eat in there?"
    "Sandwiches." He pulled out a wrapped package.
    Nabiki opened it, smelling the innards of the quick-seal plastic.
    It smelled of fresh turkey breast, lettuce, mayonnaise, tomato, and rye.
    "So," she started, "you just... pulled this out of there?"
    "It's clean... packed it just before I came here."
    "Oh..." Having her turkey on rye, Nabiki seemed happy.
    Trying not to forget his manners, Mousse offered a sandwich to a
    similarly famished Akane. She took her father's sandwich, since he
    was... preoccupied. He wondered if Kasumi wanted one, and looked askance
    at Nabiki. Nabiki raised an eyebrow, and nodded slightly. Mousse went
    out the door.
    Now, here's the set-up. Akane, Nabiki, Soun. Three turkey
    sandwiches. Potentially life-changing foodstuffs.
    "Hmm... this is good. Kinda bland, though. Simple, too. Hmm... I
    think Mousse had some salt with him..."
    Can you guess what looked like salt?
    Outside the Kuno premises, a soda machine hopped its way along the
    wall.
    "This is soooooo... cooooool..."
    Tsubasa sounded as prideful as he could while sharing a soda can
    vending machine costume with a girl in a leotard who happened to be very
    attractive, alluring, and downright aggressive. "And I can give the
    right change, too."
    Kodachi gave the controls a languid eye. "Did you make all this,
    honey?"
    "Yes, dear... where did you say your house was?"
    "Right around the counter..."
    They turned.
    "Oooooohhh... and I thought my drumset was big."
    "Carry me above the threshold, darling?"
    "N-now, honey, d-don't d-do anything to..."
    The dispenser fell forward.
    "Sorry."
    Meanwhile, the meteorite was not floating in the pond.
    "This is great! I knew I'd make it taste better! Hah! I bet you
    were thinking that I'd botch even that!"
    Nabiki sat at the end of the accusing finger. "Moi?" At least,
    she thought, I wouldn't put salt on a sand... wait. The condiments we
    left in the shelf... in the kitchen... "Can I have a look at that
    shaker, Akane?"
    "This? Oh, sure!" She handed Nabiki the wooden container, then
    jumped up, flexed her arms and exploded, "Whew! Yeah! I'll just see if
    Kasumi needs any help..."
    "Not so fast, hot shot." Nabiki lightly but firmly put a hand on
    Akane's shoulder. She wasn't too keen about this sudden change in
    Akane's demeanor... an Akane in the kitchen is dangerous, an altered
    Akane potentially cataclysmic.
    "Can't stop now, Nabiki! Gotta go, gotta...!"
    At that, Kasumi came in with the plates. "Dinner's ready,
    everyone!"
    Soun snapped out of Waterworld, suddenly hungry again.
    Kasumi turned to her father quizzically. "Aren't Ranma and Mr.
    Saotome having dinner here?"
    Soun immediately returned to liquid limbo.
    Akane's heart fluttered in the megaflops. "Ai-yaaahhhh..."
    "There, there, father. I'm sure that the food won't go to waste.
    Have you met Mousse...?"
    "Definitely worth looking into," Nabiki smiled smugly, pocketing
    the spice, just as Mousse backed into the room with the rest of the food.
    "Oh, wow, Kasumi! They smell good! I mean, they ALWAYS smell
    good, but, wow! And they look so tempting..." Akane smacked her lips in
    a totally un-Akane manner, and had at her disposable chopsticks.
    "Uh," Mousse mouthed to Nabiki, who sat between him and Kasumi, on
    the side opposite to where positively bubbly Akane glowed with another
    type of aura altogether, "is she always this...?"
    "... passionate?" Nabiki extrapolated. "Not usually..."
    "My, my Akane," Kasumi said soothingly, "you must have worked up
    quite an appetite!" She scooped an extra large helping of rice, and
    handed it to Akane.
    "Thanks, Kasumi," she said, burrowing through the vegetables, fish
    and rice in 3.33 seconds. "Ummm, that was good. Well, I'm done," she
    bouncied her way out of the room, taking care to pat her father on the
    head.
    Nabiki and Mousse followed the Tendo heir with their eyes, mouths
    hanging open in wait for whatever food had fallen off their chopsticks
    onto their rice bowls.
    Soun cried unabated, and unfed.
    Kasumi took the opportunity to summarize.
    "Let's eat!"
    In a darkened room, a heartbeat.
    Could you hear it? Did you know that it was there?
    Would it be there tomorrow? Did it skip a beat?
    Was it dying, a world away from home?
    Cologne opened the light.
    "Grand-d... Shampoo," she said.
    Shampoo did not move from her position, sitting on the corner of
    her bed, looking out the window. She didn't even blink her sullen eyes.
    "Shampoo," Cologne said again, firmly.
    "Is it so bad," Shampoo spoke in dialect, "that I would worry for a
    friend."
    "No," Cologne answered, in Japanese. "No, it is not. I had not
    begrudged Mousse his freedom, as little as he did to assert it. That he
    has come to his senses, I do not wish to cross him. And you must honor
    his wishes."
    Shampoo stifled a cry, but it still came out as a whimper.
    Cologne steeled herself. "That he has stolen from us, and from our
    tribe, that I cannot forgive. Shampoo, you must take back those herbs
    and spices, and the bracelet, and YOU must execute the law."
    They both knew what the law said.
    They both knew that the line had been crossed, but were unready to
    pass sentence.
    Cologne left her charge, and turned off the lights, knowing, damn
    them all, that Shampoo would choose what was right.
    Mousse bit through his potato demurely. Wiping his mouth, he
    turned to ask Kasumi, "your father... is he all right like that?"
    Kasumi looked worried. "No, not really. But it's better to let
    father wade it through than to force him out." Nonetheless, she pushed
    Genma's portion of the meal close to her father's.
    Nabiki grumbled through the meat. "You've got that right."
    Putting down the bowl, she lithely stood. "I'm done for the night.
    G'night, y'all."
    "B-But, N-Nabiki..."
    The middle Tendo did not spare him a parting glance.
    With a sigh, Mousse gathered the containers and dispensers under
    the table. "I guess I'll be leaving now."
    Kasumi put a hand on his, "so soon?"
    Ahhhhhh... "I... yeah. Thanks for dinner."
    "Do you have a place to stay?"
    Mousse stopped his transporting. "No, I don't. How did...?"
    "You're welcome to stay in the guestroom," Kasumi suggested.
    "Really?" If he knew better, he would have thought that Kasumi was
    being a little too aggressive. Of course, he would have been entirely
    too wrong. "That, that would be... imposing."
    "Not at all," Kasumi said, drawing closer...
    Mousse knew, knew in his heart of hearts, that his day had finally
    come. Seize the day, night, and maybe beyond...
    "I better fix it up, then," Kasumi said, standing up.
    Mousse slammed face-first into the table, kissing the top.
    "Must... find... food..."
    Genma rummaged through the piles of combustible garbage, using some
    well-developed skills that came from ten years of trying-to-eke-out-a-
    life-without-money. Wearing his kerchief over his mouth, he waded
    through the stacks of newspapers and manga.
    "Here! Here, boy! Come and get it!"
    The Yamadas. Kami-sama bless their souls, and save their dog.
    "You must be SO hungry! I'm putting in an EXTRA BIG helping!"
    Where are the lights? Better remind Soun to tell the town
    councilman... food...
    "With all the vegetables, and fruits, and your favorite: STEAMED
    DAIKON!"
    Much like a pack animal that got separated from the pack, a huge
    blur attacked the waiting doggie dish. Ambush-retrieve-flee-*BONG!*
    Genma came down, the frying pan having done its job.
    "That's right," Akane cooed, "eat up... you'll grow up nice and
    strong..." Akane picked up Mr. Panda's dinner plate, and closed the back
    door.
    "What are you up to, sister?" Nabiki wondered from her room's
    window.
    "I... I don't know about this..."
    "Nonsense! You had known of my arrival and prepared for it! You
    had even brought out the relevant tomes!" Kuno waved the rather aged
    bookbound photocopy of "The Hair of Care".
    "No... I think you're confusing me for that fortune-teller girl in
    class..."
    "Silence! You have done as I've asked?"
    "Here..." Gosunkugi handed him the instant ramen cup.
    Sasuke intercepted the hand-off. "Master Kuno! I must sample
    these, just in case it's poisonnnnnnnnnned..." He trailed of his
    sentence, trailing off into the night horizon.
    "Cretin!" Kuno cried. "This potion of true and eternal love to
    and from Akane Tendo must be partaken of only beneath the beaming
    countenance of the blue moon. This potion is for mine lips only." He
    stood, Gosunkugi carefully pushing the pentagram away from the all-
    important footsteps of the Blue Thunder. "I must take my leave,
    sorcerer." Before Gosunkugi could even begin to think of asking for
    reparations, Kuno stepped out the window.
    "B-But..." Hikaru took another look at what was left of the doll,
    and was certain that the hair was distinctly brown. He hoped that that
    Mongolian stew recipe he used would work. Kuno never figures out,
    anyway.
    Now, onto the plans for the night... picking up the folder, he
    flipped to the appendix with the samples.
    There were four of them.
    "Which one...?" He flipped through to the topmost page, which had
    the header "Milk test".
    "This is Dr. Tofu's... this one's Ranma's father's... this one's
    Akane's father's... Ah!" He took out a single strand, eyes gleaming.
    "This time, Ranma Saotome... I will...!"
    *splash* *BONK!*
    "I'm afraid, m'boy, I can't have that. Why?" Here, Happosai
    brought himself to his fullest height. Toting the empty traditional
    "drunken master" wooden flagon on a finger, he twirled it. "Ranma is
    mine... hmmm?"
    Unsure of what had caught his eye, he picked up Dr. Tofu's
    compilation, and scanned.
    "Pop? Hey, Pop?" Ranma hmmed. Not there. Not good.
    The plan was, if Nodoka was at the Tendo's, they would stay at the
    park for the night, and Soun would fetch them when necessary and safe.
    Otherwise... well, otherwise, everything was hunky-dory, right?
    Nothing about one leaving the other.
    "I would've gotten you take-out, okay? The Ucchan's was closed,"
    Ranma muttered, as though in explanation.
    Genma Saotome was many things, but he did not play hide and seek.
    "Oh, great. What now?"
    Someone tapped his shoulder.
    "Hungry?" Akane spoke.
    Ranma climbed down the pole. "Geez, Akane! Don't sneak up on me
    like that! I thought you were that freak!"
    Akane smiled slyly. "Where IS the master pervert?"
    Ranma tiredly shrugged. "Who knows? We sent him into low orbit,
    last time we checked. He won't be bothering us this week, I think."
    Bother us? Akane turned, not willing to show Ranma how goose-
    pimply she felt. "So..." she said, as calmly as she could, "want
    something... to nibble on?"
    Ranma stiffened. It wasn't just that Akane cooked him food, again,
    something about that pause... He felt that he couldn't stand the pain.
    "Uh... no, no thanks, Akane."
    "Not hungry?" Akane unceremoniously dumped the trayful of... gunk
    into the trash. "That's okay, then."
    Relief fought with worry and suspicion, but finally washed over by
    the sheer tiredness his body begged him to sate. "Yeah, well, I just
    want to grab z's, y'know."
    "I'd like to get in bed, too, yeah," Akane said vaguely.
    "Wonder where Pop is, though," he muttered, following Akane in
    through the back door.
    I must be dreaming.
    My head is swimming, and I see a light in the side.
    (Is it so slow? I feel like my head's full of a ton of goo.)
    Got... got to... gotta get home.
    - Mommy... I'm coming back from my friend's place.
    - You know I don't like you staying over...
    Funny, home wasn't this far away. Walky, walky, walky...
    (Is that a street I used to pass by on the way back from... where?
    I think I doctor I know...)
    (Doctor? Did your friend get hurt again? You play so rough...)
    (But, Mom... we're gonna be martial artists!)
    We are.
    - I want to get married to a beautiful girl.
    - That's why you run after those skirts, eh?
    - They chase after me! Ha-Ha-Ha-Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...
    Whoa! Nasty rock. I almost tripped.
    My stomach hurts... I'm probably missing dinner... Mom makes great
    s-steamed daikon...
    Food! The glorious flavor of food! It calls to me! It calls my
    name...
    - Mmm... smells good.
    - You like it? I made it myself.
    - Really...? I know just what to do with it...
    - ... mmm... the squid's getting cold...
    - It can wait...
    - ...
    I'm home! Mom...! Mom...!
    "Mom?" Genma said, his voice whiny and pale.
    Happosai smoked his pipe.
    "Hmm... sooo..." He languidly stared at smoke panties. "The pupil
    has taught the master some new tricks." He shook his head sadly. "Much
    as it pains me, I think that this charade cannot continue."
    He leaned backward, supported by a hand. How? Why? When? It
    didn't matter. Nothing mattered in the end, except the continued
    existence of the Anything-Goes Martial Arts School... in any form.
    For the School.
    For the Art.
    Tomorrow.
    Happosai stopped groping Gosunkugi's butt, and flew through the
    window, into the unsuspecting night. A running man can slit four
    thousand throats in the night, not that he had anything against throats,
    but he wanted... softer things.
    The house looked like it had been all this time.
    Dark, and lonely.
    Dark, and foreboding.
    Dark, and empty.
    An empty house.
    "Hello?" he whispered.
    This was too much of a risk, really. Even in disguise, he wasn't
    sure he could pull it off. He'd be caught, be pressured to show his son,
    and he could imagine the cool steel...
    Nodoka screamed.
    Genma vaulted the gate with one leap, and sped through the walkway
    to the training hall behind the house.
    In the garden, Nodoka knelt with her back to Genma. She was
    obviously having trouble breathing, and clutched her breast in a manner
    like, like...
    "No!" Genma pushed forward, reaching out.
    Without even thinking about it, Nodoka's martial arts reflexes took
    over, and the katana swept behind her, deadly and swift.
    "What?" Nodoka finally turned.
    Her face contorted with horror, and she fell to her knees,
    clutching the young boy that had innocently crept up behind her. His
    glasses lay limp, hanging loosely from one ear.
    "NO!"
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    (Detach here)
    I forgot! No eggs! Modified the eggs into quail eggs. Quail egg
    omelet, anyone? Much thanks to goo.
    I feel content that I have finally notched Day 2 on the three-day
    litany of Herbs and Spices. I say content because I feel that I have
    been gunning for the unassuming, underachieving storylining that should
    just send the readers over the edge when they finally get to the final
    parts. Not that Switch has been an overall fan-champion, no. I've been
    told, after all, that it went from strange to confusing to downright
    weird, sometimes. I know I've been that way, sometimes. If it makes it
    a unique style of writing, so be it. I've personally preferred Douglas
    Adams, but he gets paid for his work. ^_^ Anyway, as soon as I know
    someone's read it, I'm all set for the next.
    No, I think that Switch will continue to be awkward, imperfect and
    confusing, mainly because I've gotten used to it. (And I thought it was
    getting bogged down with mushy scenes already! Tsk, tsk.) There's just
    no simpler way to write it, for me.
    For acknowledgements, the Nikholas F. Toledo Zu, the TimeRunner,
    the Scriviner, d'Rillian, the whole Hill, and everybody I've been bugging
    this story (and associated rants) with are all invited to the awards
    ceremonies. My family's been keeping enough out of the way for me to
    actually write scenes like Tsubasa and Kodachi's and still feel safe.
    Whoever I have not mentioned will probably get pissed, but I forget easy.
    I'm not gonna post the Day 2 summary here!
    As for hints and teases for Day 3 events, I'll say it starts from
    "Three White Lies" and Chapter 15, "Fifteen, Going on Sixteen", takes a
    little stroll down memory lane in "Battle of Witlesses", "Letter #361"
    and "Tree", comes back with a vengeance for lunch, and pops the question
    before it's even time for tea. And there's still the 23rd chapter to
    eulogize it! It doesn't get any more downhill than this.
    Please somehow send C&C.
    (Detach here)
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    


	19. Odds and Ends: Three White Lies


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Odds and Ends: Three White Lies by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny thanks to whoever saw this.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Skipping about in the story, and compiling whatever post-mortem and pre-
    natal side stories which may come to mind, Odds and Ends has them all.
    Side stories from the minds of the people (and non-people) of NFT fics.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    (fifteen going on sixteen) Day 2
    [Despite the author's best efforts to the contrary, this segment
    contains lemony bits. Just take it as a warning as to the hazards of
    passion spice use, along the shelf with Christian Gadeken's "Passion
    Spice", Paladin's "Lemonade Punch", and "Okonomiyaki Orgy". A tip of the
    hat to Roy Rim, wherever he may be. Caveat emptor.]
    He was a dark and stormy night.
    He was the night when his father brought him to the Tendos' place.
    He was the river that flowed violently that night, murky and swift. He
    was the rain, falling in pieces, never really giving it all; there was
    more than enough for the next morning. He was the destroyer, breaking up
    with a few words the single bestest chance at a trouble-free life.
    He was a Sunday night.
    And, on that night, he slept.
    The roof creaked.
    Akane giggled in a completely incongruous manner. She tried so
    hard to imitate what could pass as ninja gear, but the only real life
    sample she had was Kuno's bucktoothed manservant, Sasuke, and that wasn't
    any help. She rummaged around in her closet for anything to put into the
    mix to help her blend into the surroundings, and ended up groaning in
    disgust.
    She didn't have anything in black.
    She remembered a hot little number that Nabiki tsk-tsked at,
    scolded her for (what would Kasumi say?) and never saw again. It was a
    midnight type of blue that looked good to take off, smooth to the touch
    and fell to the floor with the least amount of noise. (Was it getting
    hot? Akane asked herself, as she rubbed her ruddy arms in the conditioned
    air of her room.)
    Pulling outfits and shorts and underwear (who cared? Ranma said
    that the little freak was out of commission in his tired and utterly sexy
    voice) and what's this? She blushed slightly as she realized that the
    yellow shirt she held was Ryoga's (as were the black cotton pants that
    came along with it). Quickly slamming the closet door (turning her head
    from it, as though expecting a naked Ryoga to leap out of it), she went
    to work.
    Tiptoe-giggling-stumble-right across the stretch of roof that must
    have been so familiar to her prey, Akane theatrically took her time to
    peer inside the room.
    As to be expected, the panda was not there, sleeping fitfully.
    Almost as an afterthought, she tried to place where she had kept the
    leftover de-aging mushrooms that she had pilfered off of Mousse's supply.
    Aww, what harm could come from 'shrooms? She giggled a little more, then
    put a hand to her breast, inhaling and exhaling, having suddenly lost the
    ability to breathe unconsciously.
    With exaggerated motion, Akane slid the window to the second floor
    guestroom open.
    Ranma was downstairs, in the guestroom, again.
    Now that was kind of wrong. He hadn't been sleeping there since
    Happosai came. No, the dripping sound that the carp made splashing into
    and out of the pond sounded the way that it should so. Happosai won't be
    back in a while, what with that blast he and Cologne used to cream him.
    Something troubled him with the whole matter of Mt. Fuji.
    Sure, it would have been better to have him bagged and brought home
    and all, but something about the way Happosai fought that bugged him. He
    wasn't fighting the way he used to. Usually, it was with the intention
    of getting away with something, or as an act of vengeance. But, to have
    it on Mt. Fuji, with no way out...
    "Ranma."
    He turned over. Ryoga bent over to face him. "C'mon, Ranma, let's
    fight."
    "Not now, Ryoga," he mumbled, turning the other way.
    "C'mon, Ranma," Ryoga giggled, "you keep starting fights. Now,
    it's my turn."
    Ranma quickly turned cold with sweat. Ryoga NEVER giggled in that
    way. Definitely not with any guy he knew. Dreading the possibilities,
    he turned back to Ryoga.
    Akane shifted and squirmed in her ill-fitting Ryoga costume. "Oh,
    come on. A little one on one? Mano y mano?"
    Weird dream, Ranma confirmed to himself. Akane was practically
    bursting with a healthy femininity. Uninhibited was a term. Nymphomania
    was another. "Ain't it a little late for sparring, Akane?" Did Kodachi
    try to ambush her again? Was Kodachi trying to... naah, not her style.
    The unfastened shoulder slid off of Akane in an ill-timed
    choreography. Ranma finally noticed the traditional peeping disguise
    that topped her ensemble. "I'd say that it's finally the right time for
    marriage training, Ranma..."
    That's when she squeezed his butt.
    Nabiki was sooooo right.
    Unfortunately, Akane wasn't able to savor much of the "Grade A", as
    she fell forward, having overcompensated her weight (and that of Ryoga's
    clothes). If she hadn't when she had, she probably would have gotten
    hopelessly entangled with Ranma, or gotten some nasty bruises, as Ranma
    violently jerked away from her. As it was, she fell squarely into
    Ranma's waiting (and slightly spasming) arms.
    Akane's soft-hard-warm body nestled itself onto Ranma's with a few
    *crunch*s, *crack*s and a *goosh*.
    Never a softer sound crushed several moods so soundly.
    Ranma's immediate indignation got shoved by his dread as he
    realized that one hand had grasped Akane's right breast in undignified
    caress. Dread brought family as he realized that his left hand was
    halfway up to its forearm inside Ryoga's shirt.
    But even these were brushed aside by his fiancée's heartfelt, knee-
    melting, pleasure-coated moan.
    Panic ruled Ranma's cerebral synapses.
    Get your hand off her breast, moron!
    I don't know how it got there in the first place!
    Who cares? Get it off before she gets any funny ideas!
    Stop shouting in my ear!
    She moaned!
    Slight pause.
    Is she hurt? You hurt her!
    Me?! I don't even know what's going on!
    Idiot! She likes it!
    Will you please stop shouting?! I can't hear you over the ringing!
    What did you say?
    She feels good.
    Perv!
    She could be hurt!
    She's not hurt!
    Oh, yeah? Then why'd she moan, then, huh?!
    Akane moaned again.
    Half of his brain cells turned to jello.
    She likes it, the rest conceded.
    The drizzle that promised rain filled the silence in light drips.
    In the tingly afterglow of some kind of wonderful (that being a
    connection made), Akane smile-purr-nuzzle-blinked. She could smell his
    sweat undergo a transformation from a mildly musky and delightful scent
    to an intoxicating perfume of manly desire. Ranma's hand felt so warm
    and electric to the touch, and it took route straight up her spine,
    transmitting to her erogenous zones with large, languid periodicity. His
    muscles tensed, but there were only a few she gave particular notice to.
    For all his physical glibness, all his stock knowledge, all his
    quite painful experience, Ranma did not move a muscle. Of course, his
    volatile energies, for lack of outlet, forced him to do The Bad Thing:
    he opened his mouth.
    "Miss Hinako's breasts are bigger."
    Akane's eyes shot open.
    Ranma's hand flew out of Ryoga's shirt.
    Ranma sat up, arms in the flailing posture necessary for warding-
    evil-hoping-to-prevent-pain.
    A pair of fists closed on the straps of his undershirt.
    Akane pulled Ranma up.
    "Oh shit, not again," Ranma was saying.
    It is now necessary to turn to the birds and the bees.
    They fly.
    "Oh shhmmmmm..." Ranma said, rudely interrupted by Akane's kiss.
    Ranma fell on his elbows as Akane smoothed herself along his body,
    hugging the air out of his lungs. To add to his surprise, the way that
    Akane pressed merely two layers of cloth between her and his extremely
    sensitive skin (much as they were beginning to dampen with what he only
    assumed to be sweat) made it clear to him that Akane was clearly not
    wearing any underwear.
    Ranma embarrassedly realized that, because of the impression she
    had on him, he was making a growing impression on Akane under his boxers-
    and-undershirt ensemble.
    He felt the back of the loose shirt for the reversal jewel, but, of
    course, did not find it. He stopped when Akane started to mimic his
    ministrations on his shoulder blades.
    Behind her back, he started doing the nervous finger thing.
    This was too bad to be a joke, wasn't it? This had to mean
    something, right? She had to have felt something, didn't she? What was
    she doing?! Desperate, Ranma pushed at Akane's intruding tongue with his
    own but ended up only rolling it around hers.
    "They've stopped."
    "Yes. What's happening?"
    Silence.
    "They're probably kissing..."
    "Or they're about to."
    The sound of a comforter hitting the paper-thin screen.
    "Or that they've found us out. Let's go."
    "Wait!" The latter picked up the camcorder, and they departed post
    haste.
    For moments, Akane felt heady with the pounding of Ranma's heart
    against hers. Their slightly syncopated rhythm gave her the image of
    waves lapping, chasing each other to the shore, powerful, rolling,
    meeting in crests, in troughs, and in the cradled interim.
    Ranma drew softly from her, holding her shoulders, head turned,
    eyes closed. She noted that an area around his lips was glistening with
    her saliva, where she had covered the skin with her mouth. Behind her,
    he still had a leg raised, poised from where it had released the blanket
    towards the door.
    With a gentleness that the darkness helped to mask, Ranma picked
    her completely up and off him.
    The buzzing in his ear, he realized, was the soft oscillation that
    the warm (hot) body he held was generating and passing onto him in full-
    bodied waves; it was also rising in amplitude and frequency. He had the
    distinct feeling of a bomb waiting to go off, but chalked it down to
    sincere paranoia rather than personal experience.
    "Akane..." he started.
    He stopped because Akane had slapped her hand across his mouth in a
    wiping manner, covering it. Putting on her most seriously-cute face, she
    breathed, "no. Don't speak."
    Shaking her hand off and taking it one of his own, he exploded
    hotly, "dammit! That hurt, y'know!"
    The hurt that immediately registered on her face struck him harder
    than any quick slap would. "S-sorry... I... Ranma... would... Ranma,
    look at me...."
    An unwanted chill ran down his spine. "W-why?"
    "Please..."
    He found himself raptly (he had hoped for nonchalantly) eyeing the
    now-disheveled head of raven hair, finally ending on the bangs that were
    casting shadows onto her introspecting eyes.
    Akane tilted her head back, and he could feel their eyes lock into
    alignment; he could swear she was trying to see into his skull.
    What she saw obviously puzzled her.
    "Why... why won't you love me?"
    "Eh?"
    "I... I..." She stopped, biting her lip, trying to find words
    where actions had apparently failed. "I was so sure that you were the
    one." She bowed her head, afraid to see his mocking orbs.
    With regret, Ranma noted that, if there was something that could
    stop him cold on a dime, it was Akane crying. Anyone crying. Akane
    crying. Crap.
    "God, no, look, Akane, I, what, what?"
    "The one." She shook her head slightly, and sniffled. "I... I
    really, really didn't like you when you first got here." She smiled
    slightly. "Even though you were kind of cute... and looked great nude."
    He didn't think he could do a full-body blush before. "L-look...
    not so bad, yourself, I mean..." he muttered.
    "I mean, you couldn't have come at a worse time. Everything was so
    awful without Mom... getting into high school... Kuno's stupid speech...
    grabby boys... I NEVER wanted a fiancé... and you turned me around, like
    that. I... I wanted to listen to someone, anyone: you."
    She's never said anything like this before, Ranma realized.
    "And you kept shouting me away... I kept shouting you away... you
    starting doing stupid things... I wanted to show you... but I just
    remember being so bottled up and so spilled out all the time."
    To Ranma, she sounded haggard, fragile. Almost unnoticeably, he
    wrapped an arm around her shoulders. In the dew-lit moonlight, the
    shadows seemed to not have moved.
    Her voice was barely a whisper. "Why couldn't you give me what you
    gave them?"
    Ranma heard himself speak. "I didn't give'm anything."
    "You kissed them."
    "I didn't."
    "You kissed Shampoo thrice. You even kissed Kuno. When you kissed
    me, you even denied it." She leaned into the hollow of Ranma's shoulder.
    "You can sneak into my room in the middle of the night to molest me but
    you couldn't even give me A FRIENDLY KISS?!?"
    Grabbing Ranma's pigtail while bending forward fully, she threw her
    unprepared fiancé halfway past the gaping window.
    Soun tried not to wake up at the noises near the Saotomes'
    guestroom. Maybe Genma came back from wherever he vanished to (without
    dinner, he noted recalling the double-sized meal he had). Maybe that
    young boy Hibiki was coming back. (In the drizzling rain, that would
    mean that he would also be crawling into Akane's bed.) Maybe, just
    maybe, Ranma and Akane were consummating their marriage, fulfilling his
    life's goal of unifying the Tendo and Saotome Schools of Anything-Goes
    Martial Arts.
    Maybe it was just the thunder and the lightning.
    Avoiding any mention of the words ogre, demon, master or pervert,
    Tendo completed his prayers and continued his half-sleep, shivering in
    fearfulness.
    The passion spice was doing its job quite well, augmenting Akane's
    anger and strength beyond even her normal limits. Her crackling blue
    aura laced with fiery red tendrils, and her eyes were doing a pretty
    scary burning effect. "Die, Ranma!"
    A (bottom-) half-drenched and completely (not really) female Ranma
    stepped into the room. He was caught off-balance by the fierce uppercut
    that Akane belted him, and he fell on the roof once again, the youngest
    Tendo following.
    Ranma stood, teetering on the edge of the shingling. He looked up
    at the descending female, not noticing the trail of blood on his pouty
    lips. Akane came in fast with the mallet of justice in hand, righteous
    indignation as her shield.
    Side-stepping, Ranma met Akane's trajectory, which took them merely
    meters above the carp pond.
    With a vicious swipe, Akane turned her body, allowing the torque to
    add to the impact of the mallet on Ranma's arm. Even if his outer
    forearm hit only the handle, Ranma had to fight down the urge to follow
    up the block in retaliation.
    Instead, with his leading arm, he caught Akane's back, pressing
    their chests together. His free hand latched onto the back of his
    fiancée's head, as he allowed the combined torque to have them turn in
    mid-air.
    Akane noted that: a) she couldn't hit Ranma with the mallet
    because he was already too close; b) they were falling, roughly on their
    sides, right into the middle of the pond; and, c) Ranma's breasts were,
    indeed, larger than hers. Because she was busy noting these, she did not
    have time to react to Ranma's kiss, just as they hit the water's surface.
    The pond was unconscionably cold, and Akane's lips were invitingly
    warm, even scalding. The taste of her was bitter, a bilious flavor of
    strong, but, with Akane wrapping her arms around him, it smoothed to a
    salty-sweet affair. Ranma closed his eyes, trapped in the embrace of the
    one pledged to him before they were born, and spoke his heart's truth:
    he had never felt as free.
    He couldn't help thinking of chocolate ice cream as they started
    floating.
    The door to the Tendo dojo slid open fully, and two soaked figures
    hobbled in. Ranma closed the door just as silently, and walked over to
    the light switch.
    "KEEP IT OFF," Akane boomed.
    These were the first words they had spoken since they had come out
    of the pond. They were also this short of 130 decibels, where Ranma was
    standing. After scraping his face from off the wall, Ranma gingerly
    turned to Akane, who put the cordless microphone back where she found it,
    made shushing motions, and sat cross-legged on the floor.
    Ranma sat down beside her, sorely tempted to take off his
    undershirt and wring it dry.
    "It's okay. No one can see you in the dark, anyway."
    He tried not to sound too surprised. "No way! You'd get angry and
    say I didn't have any 'feminine modesty' or sommmgumbf." The last word
    was muddled through the wet fabric of the discarded yellow shirt stuffed
    into Ranma's once-gaping mouth.
    Akane was fiddling somewhere around Ranma's waist, much to Ranma's
    chagrin. "Give me... your... shirt."
    In-between giggles, Ranma spat out the cloth. "What?" The
    undershirt came up, stopping his train of thought once more.
    Wrestling with the cotton garment, Akane leaned towards Ranma and
    dabbed at the right corner of his mouth.
    "Don't move!"
    She cleaned the wound in silence. Ranma twiddled his thumbs in
    agitation, but complied. She poked his face chaotically in the dark.
    An insight found its way into Ranma's noggin. "Okay, Little Miss
    Mind-Reader... I know what you're thinking."
    Akane looked thoughtful as she continued the haphazard-poking
    ritual. "Okay, try me."
    Ranma pondered the point a while more, trying to snatch hints from
    her faceted eyes. "Skating."
    Akane blinked. "Well... I suppose that the rain... the dark...
    stripping down to one piece of clothing each... it would be a toss-up
    between skating and strip-cramming for one of Miss Hinako's exams."
    He smirked, which was immediately attacked by Akane's well-meaning
    forefinger. "I meant Martial Skating."
    Akane stuck her tongue out. "Of course. Everything that comes out
    of your mouth has a default 'Anything-Goes Martial Arts' prefixed to it."
    Ranma goggled. "You don't remember?"
    Akane took final dabs at his face, then unfurled the fabric.
    "Nope."
    Ranma crossed his arms over his breasts. "What?"
    Akane made a show of folding the undershirt. "I don't recall
    anything - say, is that a bug on your shoulder?"
    "Huh?" He tried to follow Akane's right hand as it zagged its way
    to his shoulder - not noticing the left as it swiftly made its move.
    In one fell swoop, Ranma soon found himself off his hiney. "Waah!"
    Akane stopped his fall with her lap under his head. "Nasty dip?"
    "I thought you didn't remember."
    Stroking the red hair she started to carefully unbraid, Akane
    sounded as distant as she could with a whisper. "That red Chinese shirt,
    I was wearing a skirt and a sweater and thigh boots... I put some
    bandages... here... here... and one right about here... but I don't
    remember a thing about it."
    Tentatively, Ranma ran a hand through Akane's short-cropped bob.
    "I wouldn't have kissed you then, Akane Tendo."
    "That's what you said that time, too."
    "That's not what I said." He retracted his hand. "I said that
    kissing was something you did with someone you liked."
    "Oh." She lightly pressed her forefinger to his nose. "You kissed
    me earlier."
    He reciprocated the action. "Only after you kissed me."
    "So you wouldn't have kissed me if I hadn't kissed you."
    "No. No, I wouldn't."
    She ran a hand through her hair. "Why not?"
    "You really want to know?" He rubbed his thighs, and Akane
    couldn't tell whether it was a nervous gesture... or not.
    She thought about it. "No, I'd rather be doing something about the
    dark and the fact that I've got you exactly where I want you."
    "Idiot." Ranma smiled but edged back slightly. "In that case,
    I'll just tell you."
    "Spoilsport." Akane stuck her tongue out, leaning forward
    slightly.
    Ranma sat up, much to her dismay. "Please, Akane. We're gonna be
    in so much trouble tomorrow morning as it is."
    "That's your problem, Ranma. You think too much."
    He sighed, a deep effort. "You're absolutely right. I mean," here
    he sidled over once more, "if I kissed you now..."
    "You mean," Akane took him in her arms, "like this?"
    "Mmmm... yeah, I mean, well, mmm... I'd, well, y'know, mmm..."
    "I don't... mmm... see the problem... mmm... with kissing..."
    Pushing Ranma's bangs back, Akane gently leaned the redhead back.
    Ranma found his arms wrapped around Akane's shoulders, as the latter
    shifted her weight on her knees, carefully shifting so that she would end
    up straddling the smaller female.
    Ranma shifted his arms to Akane's back, and smoothly rocked them to
    their sides and to a topsy-turvy, completing the transition.
    "You cannot imagine," Akane interjected between breaths, "how many
    times... I've dreamt of being... in this position..."
    "Uh... Akane..." Ranma shifted a little, trying not to stifle her.
    "Ranma..." Akane's breath came in hot swaths along his neck.
    Ranma tried to move his arms from under them. "I... I feel
    weird... is it me, or... are your breasts getting pointy?"
    "Ranma..." This one went directly into his ear, as Akane's hands
    took the scenic route down the length of Ranma's backside.
    Ranma focused a moment on putting all his weight on his elbows.
    "Don't... jiggle around... Akane... don't want to... lean on you..."
    There was a teasing tone in her voice. "I'm a martial artist, too,
    Ranma..."
    "Never... meant... to say... otherwise..." Ranma found it was
    getting harder to breathe. "What... what was that?"
    Akane barely noticed, her eyes glassed over. She murmured an
    "eh?", but it came out strangled, what with her mouth full of saliva.
    The shiver traveled southward along his spine again. "There! Did
    you feel it?"
    Akane sounded confused. "What? Feel what?"
    There was something in that that made Ranma do a double-take.
    Akane made her move.
    "You just tried to take my pants off!"
    "You want me to take my pants off?"
    "Yes. No!" Ranma vigorously shook his head to make his point.
    "Gaah!" He disentangled himself from Akane. "I'm such a pervert!"
    "Stop it!" With a yank, Ranma was back on top of her, fastened
    quickly by her powerful legs. "You are NOT a pervert! Stop saying
    that!"
    "Eh?" Ranma couldn't expound on it, because Akane buried her face
    in his flowing tresses.
    "It's hard enough to convince myself otherwise, sometimes," she
    sobbed. "Don't... don't you know what I had to do...?"
    "Please tell me that this is NOT just some sort of passion spice
    thing or something," Ranma whispered back.
    A pause. "What if it is?"
    "Huh?"
    "What if something I ate earlier gave me this sudden urge to
    confess undying love to you? What if something *you* ate earlier is
    telling you to kiss me?"
    "Now YOU'RE thinking too much."
    Akane shook her head, whispering into Ranma's ear. "No... no more
    thinking... no more words... I... I give... my all... to you..."
    A slight jerking motion accompanied Akane pushing herself upward.
    With a kick (which nearly tossed them across the room), the black pants
    flew to a side.
    "Uh... Akane... what... what...?"
    "You said you wanted my pants off..."
    "No!" Ranma pushed Akane up by her shoulders. "We can't!"
    "It's perfect..."
    Frustration welled up in Ranma's throat. "No, it's not!" he
    yelled, pushing himself on his hands and knees.
    Ranma felt Akane's loving hands trace his face.
    With her longer arms, Akane wrapped her arms around Ranma's neck.
    In a voice he was sure was a distinct imitation, she purred, "and now,
    Ranma, make... me... your... own..."
    Akane grabbed a breast.
    Ranma gulped.
    Akane slid her hands to Ranma's waist, bringing him down.
    Lightning flashed.
    "MROWWR?!"
    Okay, so she was having a terribly bad day.
    So she used hate potion on Mousse (which was intended for Tsubasa,
    who she didn't even see for the entire day), and he was the only free
    help that they had. She wasn't feeling too good for today, and slept
    most of the time.
    Understandably, her great-grandmother was upset: Mousse had taken
    some of the secret herbs and spices (really, just some odds and ends),
    and he was the only cheap labor that they could get. (Curiously enough,
    if Hiroshi and Daisuke had applied, they probably would have asked for
    the same wages as Mousse: occasional feel opportunities with Shampoo.)
    In her opinion, Cologne was hiding something, another more pressing
    concern, but she could not spend time to think about it.
    And so, she made her way to... kidnap Mousse.
    At least, that was the plan.
    The sight that greeted her as she crept into the training hall,
    needless to say, shocked her. How long had they been cavorting in the
    dark like husbandless Amazons in the Great Passion Spice Epidemic of Long
    Ago? How greatly had husband-in-law been affected by his body-altering
    curse? Why was he fiddling in the dark with the most homely and uncaring
    of the women in his life? And why, of all times, was she trapped in the
    form of a cat at this time?
    With the blood of the Amazons rushing in her veins, Shampoo did the
    best thing that would come to mind when the husband begins to pretend
    being a female:
    Show him who really wears the skirt.
    "SH-SH-SHAMPOO?!"
    With a feline snarl of defiance, the pinkish cat screamed at the
    face of horror, and -
    "GET OUT!!"
    She was barely able to avoid the fierce swipe that cut through her
    trajectory.
    Akane's aura flared crimson and azure. "CAN'T YOU SEE WE DON'T
    WANT YOU HERE?!" Ranma struggled with Akane's hand covering his eyes.
    Shampoo hissed her dissent, making Ranma cringe in response.
    "HE NEVER WANTED YOU HERE! I DON'T WANT YOU HERE! JUST GO AWAY!!"
    The fur on the cat-girl's back fluffed up, showing her extreme
    dissatisfaction with the situation. It was then when she noticed where
    Akane's left hand was.
    "NYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"
    "QUIET!!" Wide-eyed, the Tendo heiress stood to a sumo stance.
    "WHAT?! WHAT DID I DO WRONG? ALL I WANTED WAS SOME TIME ALONE WITH MY
    FIANCÉ - WAS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?!"
    Behind her inferno impression, Ranma Tokyo-shuffled his panic, with
    Shampoo all over him.
    Mousse was downstairs, in the guestroom.
    "Kasumi... thanks for... guestroom? I-I couldn't... too kind..."
    With a roll to his side, he shifted from sleeptalk to snoring.
    "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU TWO ARE DOING?!" Akane turned on her heel,
    smoldering with the accelerated wrath of a passionate lover scorned.
    Ranma huddled his smaller body in the corner. Of Shampoo, neither
    hide nor screech. The redhead moved slowly, rhythmically, small motions
    which involved the neck and face.
    With solid, wide-striding, macho stomps, Akane halved the gap to
    the corner in question. "I SAID, WHAT ARE YOU DO-!"
    Ranma turned his head.
    Shampoo was in his mouth. More accurately, he was holding Shampoo
    by the nape with his teeth.
    Surprised, Akane jumped back most of the way.
    A playful gleam grew in Ranma's eyes. The smaller cat had already
    been cleaned, and his (master? mate? goddess?) seemed eager to play.
    Would she share in the happiness of a bath? Ranma knew that he felt
    slightly sticky, and tired, and especially hot.
    Especially hot.
    With a bound, Ranma landed on top of Akane, pinning her hips with
    his body. With a feral swipe -
    He proudly presented the cursed Amazon to his fiancée.
    Akane looked, from the confused (yet well-groomed) feline, to the
    warmly appraising gaze Ranma gave her, and back.
    She took the proffered cat, stroked it carefully, then threw it
    through the open window when it began to turn hostile towards her.
    Ranma wasted no time bathing his friendly friend, lapping and
    licking Akane's face, stroking the fine hairs into shape and body.
    With a sigh, Akane reciprocated the gesture, the back of her mind
    buzzing with anxiety and anticipation as the tactile comb slid down her
    neck and started on her collarbone...
    Day 3 (4X4 FWD/RWD)
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    (Detach here)
    It pains me to admit that it has become harder and harder to write
    the parts as they come out, as this will be written between the writing
    of chapters twelve and thirteen of Switch. I have yet to detail the Mt.
    Fuji fight in Battle of Witlesses, and Dr. Tofu's post-manga situation in
    Letter #361. Much as I would like to think that I am one year matured
    into the fanfic writing biz, I strain to think that I have lost my touch,
    and lost touch with this, my namesake.
    Maybe I spent too much time writing Tsubasa's origin in Park Life.
    Perhaps I'm still lagged by the sheer number of short fiction I've been
    pulling out, or the other projects I've lined up for myself.
    Sigh. Life goes on.
    Another day has been marked herein, and finally, FINALLY, I might
    be able to pull my rabbit from out of the hat. Day three will no doubt
    be the oddest assortment of events that will grace the pages of any of my
    fanfics. Eight chapters of mayhem and madness and angst (and, most of
    all, switches) will mark my departure from this fanfic. Oh, no, just a
    vacation... I plan on doing at least the first storyline in Lovers and
    Friends, as well as orchestrate the entirety of the plot until it boils
    down to the end.
    So, how was this story written? I tried to make this as sexually
    tense as it could get without getting anywhere. Don't you think it asks
    to be ignored? A Ranma-and-Akane lemon with passion spice as the
    catalyst.
    Why didn't I just have them do it? Trust me, you'll be glad I
    didn't. Really. Honest.
    (Detach here)
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    


	20. Herbs and Spices: 4X4 FWD RWD


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 16 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny-weeny thanks to whoever else
    even saw this. The seeds of the righteous... never mind. It's Day 3.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    4X4 FWD/RWD
    I think I've lost her.
    For once, the unfamiliar (some might even say sfumatically,
    chiaroscurically, antigothically terrifying, though most people won't)
    surroundings did not distress him. To anyone who wasn't Ryoga Hibiki
    (even when he wasn't in his own skin, as he was now), that might have
    sounded at least comforting. However, the mind of the heir to the Hibiki
    School of Martial-Arts... RRrr... Ggg... well, Martial Arts, had only
    three states of increasing status: Confusion (also, the common state),
    Love-Affection-Protection-Devotion-Obedience-Gallantry (a whole mass of
    honorable, altruistic motives) and Distress (a higher plane of confusion
    - but one where the senses still function).
    Since the environs surrounding him seemed disinclined to breed
    familiarity, it meant only one thing: there was a higher distress that
    bothered him.
    "Where am I now?" he said weakly, mostly out of habit. Of course,
    it came out as "bu-bu-bw-buuweee..."
    Finally exhausted beyond belief by panicked running and more than
    one day's lack of sustenance, P-chan collapsed onto the closest nook
    Nature gave him.
    In an almost perfectly rectangular district of Tokyo, popular to
    many tourists, aliens and all-around weirdoes...
    "Sweeto!" Happosai shouted, drowned slightly by the weak rain.
    This time, he will prevail. This time, he would conquer all barriers,
    and cheat fate. This time, *BONK!*
    It was quiet because it was almost three in the morning. It was
    also quiet because Happosai had just slammed face-first into a skewed
    lamppost. It was exactly the time of day when even perverts weren't
    around doing their jobs, or, when they were, God gave them coffee breaks.
    Needless to say, the town healed.
    It was in these hours when those who were indeed awake (while
    fighting unimaginable forces to run amok stealing underwear of the
    opposite gender [if possible], to make a public nuisance of one's self,
    or transmogrify the entire populace into females) thought of the
    prospects of leaving said district for the nearest, but safest, asylum.
    Ponder that in the three minutes and forty-nine seconds of bliss.
    The darkness receded like a wary predator, or a cautious lover,
    eyeing her from a metered distance. The cold hung heavy, burdened with
    mildew and sobriety; an even colder wind cut through, biting deep into
    her shoulders and the small of her back, jostling the serene drop of her
    tresses.
    Ukyo opened her eyes.
    The ceiling hung there without the apparent support that she knew
    was there. The curtains skirted downward, losing the wind's life.
    Outside the window, the lamp flickered slightly in the soft tinkling of
    the dew-like rain.
    Through acute perceptions, the room seemed to hum with a low
    murmur. From the window, to the closet, to the door, finally, to the far
    corner... nothing.
    She waited in the dark, listening to her even, imperceptible
    breathing:
    in,
    out,
    and in,
    and out,
    marking half-seconds with accuracy.
    Satisfied, she sighed.
    She turned onto her other side, stretching some kinks that the soft
    mattress of her bed settled into her. Wrapping her arms onto her chest,
    she coaxed the warmth of her pillow into her bodice.
    Outside the window, the rain began to thin, silent and undeniably
    cold.
    Ukyo frowned slightly, and hiked the blanket over her shoulder,
    covering the goose bumps on her bare legs. She rubbed her knees
    slightly, and held her pillow tighter.
    Something squeaked.
    Moments more, she had assured herself that, yes, the warm, soft
    gusts in her cleavage were, in fact, breaths.
    With deliberation, she extracted the intruder.
    "... A FRIENDLY KISS?!?"
    Grabbing Ranma's pigtail while bending forward fully, Akane threw
    her unprepared fiancé halfway past the gaping window, and into the ebbing
    rain.
    I always was a softie for dumb animals, she thought, considering
    the sight of Ryoga in his li'l piggie body (nuzzling her breasts, no
    doubt!) and why it wasn't sending her hackles to high heaven. I couldn't
    even cook him. A fuzzy yet evil grin traveled to her mouth languidly:
    that doesn't mean I'm above kicking him around...
    The ninja girl sat up, crossing her legs under the sheets, in no
    hurry to grab the spatula just lying flat on the floor to send the petite
    porker into some medium-to-high level Earth orbit. She held the piglet
    by the forelegs, immediately warning her to a sudden realization: take
    away the bandanna, Ryoga was naked.
    Well, at least *you* aren't, a voice in her head said.
    Having noted that, she made a sincere effort to restrict her
    perusal of the inexplicably adorable incarnation of the fanged and
    usually noisy lost boy to above the bandanna.
    He sagged into himself, snoring.
    Nodoka Saotome fell asleep, tears in her eyes, blood on her hands.
    She felt silly waiting for something to suddenly happen, so she
    wiggled him around a bit.
    He slept soundly.
    She wiggled him around a little more. Then she walked him a
    little, like a puppet. "I am Pigzilla, and I will crush Tokyo into PIG
    SLOP! HEAR - ME - SQUEAL!!"
    His snoring popped with a snort.
    She stopped.
    Gosunkugi woke up.
    "Happens every time," he muttered. He yawned. "Say, that was
    pretty good. I must have slept like a..." He yawned again, rubbing his
    hand against his chest. "Yup, that was..." *goosh*.
    Gosunkugi opened his shirt, and fainted.
    His head lolled from one side to the other.
    She giggled. After a self-conscious tic, she set him down in front
    of her, and leaned her hands on her knees.
    She didn't want to goo-goo eyed over the pigl... it was Ryoga,
    dammit! She was supposed to be angry with him.
    [Was it him she was angry at?]
    He snuggled up to her in bed twice already.
    [He kept her company through the last two nights.]
    He ran out on her.
    [... and got lost (got lost) in the bath.]
    He... he shouted at her!
    [And she shouted at him.]
    He... he's so frustrating!
    [He ran his fingers through her hair.]
    He confused her. And, yet, she acted with complete confidence.
    [His solid eyes wavered, and she thought she saw his sadness.]
    He couldn't find his way out of his clothes if he didn't shrink
    after every bath - he had been in more places, done more things than she
    ever did.
    [Was he afraid? He was one of the most thickheaded people she
    knew.]
    Wandering aimlessly, unsure of the future, uncaring of the past. A
    discontinuous existence. Here today, gone tomorrow.
    [Would he lose another friend?]
    P-chan snored blissfully. She snorted, slightly piqued by the last
    of revelation.
    She picked up the cursed boy and tickled his chin lightly.
    "Hey! Whoa. S-stop..."
    Tsubasa, body slick with mixed and mingled sticky fluids, slumped
    to the floor, his first break for the span of the night. "God, that was
    so tiring. And I thought jamming in a band was... invigorating."
    Kodachi lay beside him, her arm across his chest, swirling in and
    adding to the lubrication there. "Don't hyperventilate, dear. You must
    take slow, steady breaths..."
    Tsubasa exerted, complying to Kodachi's command. He tentatively
    put his arm around her, making sure to avoid the ponytail. "You were
    great."
    Kodachi blushed, turning her head slightly skewly. "Really...?"
    She smiled shyly, lighting her face in a cherubic manner. "But... it..."
    "First time?" Tsubasa filled in, amazed. "I couldn't tell."
    "Was... was I good?"
    "You were great!" Tsubasa repeated, and kissed her forehead.
    "I... I always wanted... to do something like this... but I never
    imagined... all that dipping... and pulling out... hands all over my
    body... and all that rolling about..."
    "I got that from my father."
    "You... you saw... your father...?"
    Tsubasa hid a little smile. "He had this room, see? Once in a
    while, he'd bring some... friends over. They'd spend the whole night,
    just... doing this."
    "They would...?" Kodachi grinned, a glint in her eye. "There ARE
    still about three hours until sunrise..."
    Tsubasa moaned. "You can't be serious. We must have done it...
    five... ten... twenty... I can't count..."
    "Thirty-seven times."
    "Once for every room," Tsubasa recalled.
    "Except for one, that is..."
    "Oh. No."
    "Am I dead?"
    This brief metaphysical insight was brought on by the fact that
    Ryoga couldn't feel a thing. It was like one of those out of body
    experiences... except that, in your run-of-the-mill OBE, you'd probably
    end up looking at yourself and screaming your head off to wake up, and
    then there'd be this light and the angels would come and take you by the
    hand and... well, it wasn't like that at all.
    He sort of lost his body.
    In any case, it didn't seem like any other dream that he had had
    before. For one, he was flying.
    Ryoga didn't need to fly to get anywhere he wanted to go. He
    didn't need to do anything but walk to get to anywhere he ended up in,
    anyway. Truth was, he had enough trouble not getting lost when he had
    two feet on the ground - how much harder would it be if he had none?
    Secondly, he was buck-naked.
    This was not a new sensation. Almost half the time since... that
    tragic day, he walked around naked. (Not to mention that he was usually
    in the company of his most beloved Akane that half... even slept in her
    bed with her naked...!) Not to... well, show off or-or nothing, he did
    his best to get out of... nasty situations.
    What he was was floating... hanging with his arms spanned,
    completely naked, flying through the void. In the horizon, sharp metal
    spires shone under a pockmarked, weathered moon. The stars did not
    twinkle, a decidedly unfriendly thing for them to do.
    He started swooping down and up, motions that would have made him
    throw up, had he anything to throw up: he just make screaming motions,
    but he had no mouth. He spiraled upward, head on with the ever-growing
    moon.
    It was an okonomiyaki moon... the sauce dribbled down, into the
    ocean, ridiculously large chunks of shrimp and green vegetables floating
    with just 10% above the surface. The stars did not shrink, no... in
    fact, they grew, and he saw that they weren't stars at all... they were
    spatulas, streaking forward with throwing speed.
    The batter stayed there, like pie on the face of the sky and a face
    drawn in okonomiyaki sauce laughed at him. Giggled.
    He smacked right into it, head first.
    In the Tendo anything-goes dojo grounds, one figure stumbled to
    wakefulness. In the interests of those within the house, he (along with
    two others not present, despite his checking in their room) had already
    promised to not go about bashing heads in before sunrise. He took his
    bath, suited up, and left for the dojo proper in a matter of half an
    hour.
    Today, Soun stepped along the walkway to the dojo.
    A deep, deliriously throaty moan echoed from within the training
    hall.
    To anyone at about four in the morning, and especially to the
    sometimes chicken father of the Tendo clan, a deliriously throaty moan
    coming from the innards of your own dojo would have probably meant only
    one thing:
    "Ka-Ka-Kaaaasuummmii..." He ran back as fast as his legs could
    take him.
    P-chan kicked furiously at the air.
    Ukyo smiled broadly, thinking that Ryoga was reacting to her
    ministrations, so she redoubled her efforts.
    The efforts seemed to have their effect: in addition to the
    spasmodic leg actions, he opened his mouth, as though to laugh. She had
    a look at the touted incisors; she had to admit, she hadn't seen any
    better than those.
    That was when he started making dry choking sounds.
    Kuno spat out dirt.
    He sat up, and peeked into the now cold ramen. "Nary a drop spilt,
    nary a drop wasted." He stood, balking at the thinning night. "I will
    have you, Akane Tendo, my love!" He proceeded to escape the premises.
    Because the night did not like getting balked at, Kuno mistook the
    garbage can for a helpful Sasuke, and further delayed his impending
    success, at least for another hour.
    Sasuke, on the other hand, had landed exactly onto his bed in the
    Kuno residence.
    "Bed" was too strong a term for it. It was a straw mat, with a
    thick blanket. It was even in the crawlspace under the receiving room.
    Nonetheless, he still landed right onto it.
    He woke up, stretching. For once, he was not hampered by the low
    ceiling, as he himself had recently added the hole. He yawned,
    scratched, then opened his eyes.
    He saw red.
    And blue.
    And green.
    And several shades of mother-of-pearl, blending rather well into
    the lavender.
    "What's going on here?"
    "Speak to me!" She shook her head wildly, willing herself to speak
    straight, think straight, feel straight, don't panic, clear mind, breathe
    in, heat the grill... "WHAT'S WRONG!?"
    P-chan lay on his back, limbs flailing wildly, head back, mouth
    agape. The choking, wheezing sounds were still there, but his eyes were
    squinched shut. Ukyo felt her own chest beginning to constrict. Tears
    started to flow.
    "DAMN YOU, RYOGA HIBIKI, DON'T YOU *DARE* DIE ON ME!"
    Ukyo slapped the porker across the snout. The pig flew to the
    side, clear off the bed. She heard the wall make contact.
    Ryoga mercifully slid along his nose to the floor.
    Shampoo groggily stood on all fours, leaning on the wall. Through
    the dojo window, she could hear and actually feel the electricity.
    What the hell was all that? Akane was... Ranma was... they were
    naked!? It, it must be that Akane's fault! She couldn't do the
    honorable thing, she had to besmirch Ranma's reputation! You never made
    kissy-kissy with your father's houseguest! HE'S MY HUSBAND, YOU HUSSY!
    Maybe when my head stops hurting...
    "SHIT!"
    The lights flared open. Ukyo heedlessly leapt across the room,
    blindly hoping that it wasn't even half as bad as she thought it was.
    "My God... Ryoga!" She barely stopped herself from slamming into
    the wall. "Ryoga!"
    P-chan sat there, motionless, sprawled on his haunches...
    "I'm sorry! It's all my fault!" Ukyo buried her face into P-
    chan's stomach, not even caring that her hiccups were loud enough to wake
    the dead. "I shouldn't," *hic*, "have gotten," *hic*, "jealous of
    Akane... or," *hic*, "Nabiki... but, you didn't have to," *hic*, "watch
    over...," *hic*, "you didn't have to protect them...," *hic*, "it's
    just... there's no one to watch over me..."
    "Please, Father. I'm sure that the ghost is as scared of you as
    you are of it."
    Nabiki yawned, and stretched the kinks out of her peejays. "I
    don't see why I have to be dragged into this ghost hunt." Still, she
    checked the camcorder's battery.
    Kasumi gave Nabiki the barbell while whispering, "Akane wasn't in
    her room..."
    "And?"
    "Neither Ranma nor Mr. Saotome were in the guestroom..."
    "And...?" Nabiki trailed off, putting one and one together.
    "Oh... why the barbells, then?"
    "Just in case," Kasumi replied.
    "Just in case" was exactly how Dr. Tofu felt.
    Sure, it might not have made sense to anyone else that he wasted
    his life in a quiet (feh) little district, practicing his already
    mastered martial arts skills, wishing he was somewhere else (to him, that
    was merely six blocks down and four blocks to the left)...
    He wasn't that old yet: life begins at thirty, they say.
    Sure, his lifestyle was not glamorous, his researches merely low-
    budgeted, hobbyist efforts. He wasn't living the "Ryu" lifestyle either;
    he had his daily regimen to compensate for the rigors of wander.
    Was it Buddha who said, all things in moderation? Was it father
    who died, speaking most clearly of the follies of an extreme life? Was
    it mother who fed him, the carbohydrates and proteins of health, wealth
    and wisdom in one plate, the moral fiber and the blood of the service and
    dedication in the other?
    Was it Kasumi, who said, with complete sincerity... who said...?
    "What did she say?"
    Ryoga opened his eyes.
    Through the hazy, bright blur, he felt and heard but did not see
    the sadness, only the tears, and the longing, and the... OHmyGOD, it's
    UKYO! She wickedly kept him pinned to his back with her eyes set in her
    head, and with the weight her words seemed to carry.
    He "bwee"d sympathetically, pathetically. Please don't eat me.
    Silence. "R-R-Ryoga...?" She looked up to see him looking at her.
    "Ryoga! You're alive!"
    "You woke me up to tell me I'm alive?" he would have said. His
    snorts sounded distant, even to him.
    "RYOGA!" Ukyo stood, picking him up, hugging him close.
    "Oh... oh... Kasumi... you're so bold..."
    Nabiki's right eyebrow crawled up.
    "Did you call me, Nabiki?"
    Soun's hair flew back and up, and it only meant that things would
    not get better, unless...
    "Uh, sure, Kasumi..."
    Kasumi considered for a moment. "Well, I guess my nightgown IS a
    bit too revealing..."
    They drudged on past the guestroom.
    Mousse rolled onto his side, clutching the pillow. "Hee, hee... I
    really don't know what you have in that jar, Kasumi..."
    Tofu resealed the jar, satisfied that not even one pinch had
    disappeared.
    Twice this week. The book on proper herbal gift giving had
    returned, now a volume of the "Flora, Fauna and What-not" encyclopedia,
    the thirteenth, in fact, had zeroed out into null space.
    He hadn't thought about it before, but now he was sure: something,
    or someone, was going on, and things were soon coming to an head.
    Shifting gears, he backtracked to the titles that the thief,
    mastermind, whatever, borrowed, hoping to find the thread that led back
    to the source.
    The moans increased in intensity.
    "Do-don't go in..."
    "Please, Daddy." Handing Kasumi the camcorder, Nabiki hefted the
    10-lb with her right arm, cued a count up to three, then...
    "Go!" Nabiki slid the door.
    They stared.
    Kasumi put a hand over the lens of the camera, then slowly turned
    it off.
    The lights in Ukyo's bedroom went out.
    "C'mon, Ryoga... let's get some sleep, shall we."
    He was already way ahead of her: the pig snored, his breath steady
    on her chest.
    She sat on the edge of the bed, breathing in the sunrise. For
    once, P-chan did not seem to be the enemy, the pervert, the suitor, or
    the guardian. He was just a pet, someone to shower affection to.
    Motherly affection? An outlet? Maybe just something... someone to hug.
    Strange... when he's a pig, his telltale bandanna actually becomes
    a scarf... well, from a headband to a scarf, in that case...
    "Ukyo..."
    She patted her forehead, already beading with sweat. "Yes, Dad?"
    "What did I tell you about what you wear when cooking?"
    Ukyo stood up and jumped from off the grill. "The wraparound, the
    black cotton pants, the spatula bandoleer. Isn't that all, Dad?"
    "But are you wearing... underwear?" Ukyo's father moved in to
    tickle her...
    "Stop it! Stop it!" It was hard to breathe and laugh at the same
    time. "Uncle!"
    He stopped, "uncle." He held a hand out.
    Ukyo helped herself up with it. When she was on her feet, he
    playfully ruffled her hair with that hand. With his other hand, the
    yattai owner wrapped a white cloth around the child's forehead.
    "Hey...! Aww, Dad..."
    "C'mon, Tiger." Mr. Kuonji took her by the waist and sat her on
    the edge of the grill, where she knelt just moments ago. "Why don't you
    want to wear a headband?"
    "'Coz it's so hot!" She squirmed slightly.
    "Do you know *why* you have to wear one?"
    Ukyo stopped at that. There was a reason? Hmm... "So I wouldn't
    get hit with oil spattering?"
    "No... you would have been better off with one of those kabuki
    masks."
    "To keep my sweat from the batter?"
    "No... sweat is one of the ingredients of good cooking."
    She shook her head. "Why, then?"
    She wouldn't easily forget her father's words as they crossed the
    years. "Well, Tiger. A headband keeps your hair from covering your
    eyes."
    ... wisely keeping his head from covering his heart.
    The epiphany washed over her, and, that morning, she realized that
    since the time she came to Nerima, her blood started running cold.
    She had been growing her head too long.
    How many times had she felt like packing up, giving up, and soothed
    herself by saying, "is this it? All that time and effort for nothing?"
    How many times did she ask for reasons when she could have asked
    for feelings?
    How many times did she wake up looking for love and finding... a
    pig?
    Setting her charge on a pillow, she took her battle spatula... and
    began to unravel a relic from a happier past.
    When she was finished, the yellow ribbon rolled along her arm in a
    sudden gust of wind. Carefully, she wrapped the cloth once, twice,
    finally knotting it.
    The makeshift bow-tie gripped her throat lightly; she swore that
    there was still time, still time to listen to the slow, calm beatings of
    her heart.
    Time's up.
    Soun nodded gravely, then clapped his hands on Ranma's shoulders.
    Since Ranma was still in cat-fu, he immediately hissed and jumped back
    into Akane's lap. The latter bowed her head, partly to calm the
    frightened Ranma, partly to obscure her complete nakedness, partly to
    avoid her sisters' or her father's eyes, partly to cover her own
    emotions.
    "Well, then," he said after regaining composure, the bounciness of
    his hair and facial coloration, "Akane, Ranma... for the sake of the
    Anything-Goes School of Martial-Arts... for the honor of my family and
    yours... you must be wed."
    Kasumi put a hand to her mouth. "Oh my."
    Akane raised her head and rushed her father. "I'm so happy!"
    


	21. Herbs and Spices: Seventeen Myths and Le...


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 17 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny-weeny thanks to whoever else
    even saw this. The seeds of the righteous... never mind. It's Day 3.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Seventeen Myths and Legends
    Kasumi slowly went over to Akane's side. "Are you sure you're
    okay?"
    With tiny eyes set in the space of a hopeful, eager, lonely face,
    Akane wordlessly nodded.
    A hearty, heartfelt hug by the elder sister conducted her own
    thoughts, and when they broke contact, Akane's tears rolled down slowly,
    silently. The young Tendo bit her lip just to show Kasumi-neechan that
    she, too, would learn to live through change.
    Nabiki sat, eyes outward, towards the outside of the large room.
    Kasumi sat down next to her, and she whispered, under her breath, "I
    think he's worried about the money."
    "Oh" was all Kasumi said. Father never talked about money. But
    there he was, eyeing a tightly-rolled wad of paper.
    Kasumi followed Nabiki as she stood and crossed the floor to the
    back door of the dojo, silently with her eyes. The younger girl soon
    returned with a wooden parcel. Kasumi almost gasped in recognizant and
    sudden horror.
    "B-but, Nabiki!" she said with alarm.
    Nabiki shook her head sharply, long, thin plaits accenting the
    action. The glance said that she knew what she was doing, while the look
    asked that Kasumi accede the gesture.
    Kasumi knew that Nabiki was never one for frivolous action. She
    nodded slowly, and followed Nabiki to the door, which the latter closed
    to a crack.
    Nabiki sat perpendicular to her father, nestling the box in her
    lap. Soun had quickly kept the wad, eyes averted and moist.
    "Daddy," Kasumi heard the middle Tendo say, "let's play shogi."
    "Let's play shogi," she repeated, not quite rolling it around the
    tongue, but not quite sure what it meant. She was sure that it did not
    mean that the man - the boy - before her wanted to play shogi.
    "Yeah." He looked nervous, trying to casually run a hand through
    his scalp. She had a brief flash of insight, imagining him with a bald
    pate. After realizing that it would probably give him the effect of
    looking more manly, more masculine... more serious, she decided to add
    flowers growing out of nooks and crannies. She giggled in response,
    inwardly, of course.
    "What's so funny?"
    She covered her mouth. "I was wondering if you called for me just
    to ask if we could play shogi."
    It looked as though he hadn't caught her drift when he replied, "O-
    of course, Nodoka... wh-what else - ?"
    Nodoka actually had to still his lips with hers. He melted in her
    arms in a gesture they had to make full use of the wide-sleeved kimonos
    her parents always wanted her to wear. They were so queer in their old-
    fashioned nature - if they saw her kissing him, they would probably be
    halfway to the shrine. That, or they'd be chasing him out of Japan.
    "Oh." He took a second more to recover, half from shock, half from
    disappointment - the kiss had so much room for company. "So... they're
    not home..."
    She shook her head in agreement. "What did you REALLY want us to
    do, then, hmm?"
    Continue that kiss, something inside him said. He cleared his
    throat, immediately discarding the saliva for that statement. "A-
    actually..." He recomposed himself, taking her smaller hands in his.
    "Actually, I just wanted this time alone with you."
    She knew that tone of voice her had. The wistful lilt, one he
    never used unless... "Happo-"
    "Don't." He nodded, understanding.
    She sighed. "You know... you're going to have to make a choice
    sometime soon."
    He nodded again, and started to realize that he actually needed to
    elaborate more than just simple assent. "Actually... we're already sick
    of the little lecher. He's just too good, and he's got that fire burst.
    Who knows, one of these days, we might just tie him up and leave him in a
    cave somewhere..."
    She frowned, ever so slightly. "You know that's not what I mean."
    He scratched his nape, and tried to cover his cover-up with an
    expression of utter incomprehension. It didn't work. "I... I know,
    Nodoka..."
    They left it at that.
    "... just leave it like that, okay?"
    "Okay, Doctor..."
    The doorbell rang.
    Tofu tried to stop smiling like a damned fool, and wiped his
    glasses clear of the fogginess. Quickly turning from his patient, he
    went to see who was at the door.
    "Hello there... why, it's you, Mr. Tendo!"
    "Hello, Dr. Tofu... where's K-?"
    "Father!" Kasumi ran out of the clinic clean into her father's
    waiting arms.
    Tofu marveled at her carefree energy. "Easy, easy... don't use
    that foot too much, now."
    "Yes, Doctor," she apologized. She was much too happy to see her
    father. To Soun, he requested, "please, at least for a day or two."
    He nodded, and brought his eldest in his arms. He would have given
    her a piggyback ride, except that she was still in that yellow leotard.
    "Better not let your mother see that, y'know..."
    Tofu sighed. He knew what this feeling was, he just didn't know
    where it would lead...
    Kasumi knew that it would lead to this. It didn't mean she had to
    like it.
    Of course, she didn't mind the fact that finally, finally, Akane
    and Ranma had reached the agreement that she knew would have come out of
    it. Of course, she didn't expect it this morning, in the dojo, with both
    of them in a high degree of nudity.
    With a quick compromise, she quickly summarized the feelings she
    had on the matter: "oh my." She moved to Akane's position and coaxed
    Ranma-chan-cat off of his favored position. Nabiki pulled a towel onto
    Akane, which the latter wrapped around herself with some difficulty.
    Soun was already in a world of his own, busying himself with
    something behind the stage.
    Ranma mewed quizzically, as though just realizing that his bride
    was away. Kasumi stared at him and softly but no-nonsensically scolded
    him: "You've been a bad boy, Ranma."
    "Mew?" Ranma asked, then groomed his red mane back slightly.
    "Oh, I don't want to know where that tongue of yours has been,
    you." She had the ghost of a frown. "You're not planning to leave my
    sister, are you?"
    "Mew?" Ranma knew that this nice lady was not Akane, but was
    tolerable... at least she reminded him of food. He smelled around her
    hands to find if she had brought any.
    "I hope you mean that," she murmured. With that, she picked up
    Ranma under his arms, and went back into the house.
    Under the light of the rising sun, Tatewaki Kuno finally made his
    way through the streets of Nerima to the Kuno Estate. "Hehheehhheeh...
    at last, the immovable gates of my family's towering mansion." He took a
    look at the instant ramen cup in his hand. "At last... I, Tatewaki Kuno,
    can secure the long and prosperous future of dating the beauteous Akane
    Tendo... ah-hah... eh-heh... BWAH-HAH-HAH-HAH-!!"
    Because the immovable gates of the Kuno Estate were, indeed, not
    immovable, the proud sign which bore the even prouder family name of the
    Kuno clan proudly knocked the all-too proud skein of the Kunos out cold.
    She looked as knocked out as they come. The foreigner looked kind
    of distraught, thoughts of lawsuits and really large bills for
    translators shaking him silly. The bokken looked none worse for the
    wear, considering that it was made of rather durable wood, and it had
    come into mortal contact with a less durable human head.
    "I didn't see her! Tell me she's all right! TELL ME SHE'S ALL
    RIGHT!" He turned to his companion and pulled the other man's collar.
    "TELL ME!"
    THAT tells ME, the other man thought, to steer clear of loopy
    martial artists. He would've shook his head if it wasn't being shaken by
    the loopy martial artist in question. At least... what's this...?
    The men stopped as the woman groaned, a sure sign of life, as well
    as a sure sign of not-knowing-what's-going-on. "Well," the first one
    said, "Iguesseverything'sallright,sorryaboutthebumpg'bye!" - he really
    did hate bills.
    Let the Guide go, turn, run aw- "Wo ai ni..."
    "Wha-?"
    *kiss*
    The woman ended up back on the ground, this time cushioned by the
    confused mass of the foreigner. The pudgy Jusenkyo Guide merely shook
    his head ruefully... "aww... very tragic story, of man who beat Amazon
    with bokken on head, just two minute ago. Whoever outsider man beat
    womans of Amazon tribe, must marry her." He grinned lopsidedly, "very
    tragic story."
    "But it's true, I tell you!"
    "You must be batsy. First, you see that alligator in the river,
    now you're telling me there's this mob of girls prowling town looking for
    some guy and it isn't Ranma Saotome?"
    "Sure shootin'. Someone named 'Sasquatch' or somethin'."
    "You must be drunk agin."
    "Hell, no! I'm as sober as your twin... or his twin... or..."
    "Mousse!"
    "M-M-Mo-Mother!" That was strange. What was Mother doing in the
    room where he and Kasumi were? He vanished the jar Kasumi brought, while
    Kasumi herself seemed to have disappeared.
    Apparently, she was baking a cake. She was wearing a 'piyo piyo'
    apron, but wasn't Kasumi going to use that? "Mousse, call your twin
    brother so that we can start the party."
    Oh God. The party. When was the last time he saw his brother? Or
    worse yet, his sister? S'been ages since...
    "Mom?" A decidedly male voice came in.
    "Mother?" Another voice, female.
    "Where have you two been, we've been looking around for so long!
    Quickly, the candles will burn into the cake if you don't blow..."
    Mousse turned, almost the same time as his twin...
    "Yo." Ryoga blew the candle flame into his face. And to his side
    was their little sister, Kasumi.
    She rummaged through her locker for something he could wear.
    "Ranma... you're a bit smaller than Akane..." She pulled out a green
    leotard. "I think this one will fit you better."
    "I ain't wearin' no leotard, okay?" Ranma fumed in his still-damp
    Chinese shirt.
    The eldest Tendo girl kept her calm tone. "It wouldn't look good
    if you didn't wear anything to the fight with Kodachi, right, Ryoga?"
    Ryoga looked up, surprised. "Uh, right..." He took the leotard,
    Ranma, and opened the door, shoved the former two out, and closed the
    door, shouting, "Ten minutes, in the dojo, Ranma!"
    For a moment, their eyes locked, and Kasumi felt her breathing
    synchronize with Ryoga's, as the latter slowed his own heartbeat.
    "Ryoga..."
    "Wh-what is it?"
    Kasumi seemed contrite. "I'm sorry for the other night."
    "What?" Now what was this - oh. "It's okay, honest. I'm sorry
    that I came barging in so late at night." Even if it was to wring
    Ranma's neck. Wait. Something was bugging him earlier... what was it?
    Oh, yeah... "Kasumi, could I ask you something?"
    Kasumi turned from the closet, which she had just closed. "What
    about?"
    "You... you do rhythmic gymnastics?"
    She shook her head. "I used to, and not the martial-arts type.
    I'm afraid that I couldn't teach Ranma or Akane anything of use."
    "I-it's okay." Ryoga was still coiled, tense. "Is... is the Tendo
    School of Martial-Arts training Rhythmic Gymnastics?"
    "No. It's Anything-Goes... why do you ask?"
    Ryoga sagged, relieved. Later on, he realized that Kasumi was too
    dangerous to be around: given any extended duration of proximity, one
    was too inclined to divulge deep, dark secrets to the gentle homemaker.
    At that point, anyway, he said, "it's just that I'm trying to avoid
    contact with any girl trained in Martial-Arts Rhythmic Gym... my parents
    - well, my mom, anyway - well, sort of... forces me to fight any heir of
    a Rhythmic Gymnastics dojo."
    Kasumi puzzled over the idea. "Why would your mother force
    you...?" The question died as the reason, the only true logically
    twisted reason shone.
    Ryoga nodded. "Meet Ryoga Hibiki, heir to the Hibiki School of
    Martial-Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics."
    "Rhythmic gymnastics, you say?" Tsubasa admired the sleek
    musculature before him.
    Make that above him. Kodachi was gripping the wooden framework of
    the ceiling, giving Tsubasa an interesting perspective of her backside.
    She turned her head, and winked, "'come into my parlor,' said the spider
    to the fly."
    Very, very, very carefully, Tsubasa stood on top of and quite close
    to the edge of the king-sized bed just beneath the Black Rose. "What
    fly?"
    Kodachi edged on to hover near the center of the bed. "Oh...
    that's right. You're not wearing a fly..."
    The drummer complied, treading to center. "I don't see a thread of
    silk on you, either..."
    Kodachi make several quick hand motions, the outcome of which was
    her eventual fall, landing squarely into Tsubasa's arms. The latter
    barely had time to compensate the weight, and the bed lacked the firma in
    the terra underfoot, though it did break their fall softly.
    So it was at that, Tsubasa embracing the gymnast perpendicularly.
    Kodachi was able to take full advantage of her companion's slight yet
    well-toned musculature. Leaning into the cusp of his shoulder, she could
    smell the faint bittersweet musk mingled with her own calling out, all
    edging over the base smell of acrylic resins. She nuzzled his arms with
    her back and her playfully squirming legs, all to lather him, to find his
    weak spots, but she couldn't find any.
    He, on the other hand, merely relaxed his back, ever so slightly.
    He had crumpled forward to ease the fall, and tilted his precious cargo
    toward him. Now that he was flat on his back, he felt her body ground
    into his, lightly, fragrantly, as though she break into a million pink
    rose petals. The flowing tresses, the pert roundness, the softness of
    her end, and the silken continuity of her... he was in ecstacy.
    It was perfect.
    Choosing his words, he shifted upward and to his left, ever so
    softly laying her head on the soft cushion, tilting his head even closer
    to hers and asked her then, "we... should've brought drop cloths, no?"
    Her eyes twinkled amusement at his concern. "Oh, I'm sure brother
    dear would appreciate our redecorating his bland-colored sheets... but,
    there's still the inside..."
    And with that, Kodachi pulled the paint-leadened sheet around them
    with one quick tug.
    "Yow! STOP!"
    Nabiki didn't need a watch to know that it was way too early in the
    morning to be having this. She shoved the betoweled Akane into the
    kitchen, approximately into a chair.
    "HEY! What is WRONG with you, Na-!"
    "SHUT UP!"
    Nabiki was shaking with clear anger, made obvious by the slow
    frequency that sleep had instilled inertia into her body. She made one
    step to her sister, grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her, now face
    to face with Akane, hoping to be more effective that way. "Wake UP!"
    "Wh-what?" Akane was growing concerned. One side of the towel top
    had gone lower than her chest, while the other hung bravely.
    "WAKE UP!" Nabiki seemed to lose intensity at that point. "Wake
    UP! Wake up! Wake up... wake up..." Her head bowed, Nabiki badly
    needed Akane's support.
    "But I'm already awake, big sister..." Akane's voice matched
    Nabiki's energy level.
    The latter shook her head. "No. No, you're not." She tilted her
    head slightly, meeting the Tendo heir's eyes with her own, upcast.
    "You're having a dream."
    "A-A... dream."
    With a light push, Nabiki pulled herself to her full height. "Yes,
    a dream. A dizzying, erotic, neurotic, dark, drug-addled dream." Barely
    fumbling with her pocket, the brown-haired girl pulled out an aged spice
    container.
    Not knowing why, Akane took the shaker. "The dreaded passion
    spice," Nabiki intoned, then grinned lopsidedly. "Most deadly of
    condiments."
    "Yeah, it says so here," Akane noted, pointing at the label.
    "Don't you get it yet?" Nabiki sounded faintly annoyed. "They way
    Ranma seems perfect, says the things that makes you tingle, smells like
    the way a comfortable bed would,... feels... like the only one you'll
    ever... is because of this." She shook Akane's hand, making sure that
    neither would accidentally whiff the fine grains.
    Nabiki had to dive for the container as Akane suddenly let go of
    it. The latter fell back into the seat, clutching her shoulders tightly,
    hugging herself wordlessly.
    "It's not over yet, Akane." Nabiki's voice seemed dark without
    inflection. "No... no REAL damage done. We'll just tell Dad - "
    "Yes," Akane interrupted. She tilted her head up to look at her
    older sister's face. "I understand, Nabiki." She smiled slightly.
    "He... he didn't... he didn't say that he l..." She shook her head.
    "I'm sure... with time... he'll learn to l-love..."
    "NO!" Nabiki's eyes flashed with a dread. "Akane! YOU'RE the one
    who's drugged!"
    "I know that."
    Akane watched her sister flounder with the flat-out statement. She
    settled to leave out most of her anger and let her confusion take
    precedence.
    "You knew?"
    Akane smiled, somewhat goofily, then nodded. "I still know what
    I'm doing, Nabiki. I just feel more of it, I guess."
    That knocked the fight right out of Nabiki, who slumped into the
    seat opposite Akane's. "So, you still want to get married to that...
    that lout? That insensitive jerk?"
    "Yeah," the younger said, "we still have some... unfinished
    business."
    He dizzily woke to the smell of freshly-cooked food.
    "Good morning, P-chan!"
    That sure woke him up: the conflicting signals of Akane and
    cooking flashed to completely stifle his endomorphine intake, and an
    urgent ringing in his ears better than any alarm clock.
    Unfortunately, his body did nothing of the sort to aid him in
    escaping utter and certain gastric malcontent. Moreover, the strong
    smell of hot things-pretending-to-be-cooking drew even nearer. The only
    thing he could do was roll in the sheets, which were swimming up and
    around him in life that he himself gave it.
    "Oh... playing hide and seek, are we?" The hands started holding
    the ends of the sheet, stopping the flowing that seemed to be causing him
    seasickness, anyway.
    "Okay," Ukyo almost chirped, "you're it." She reached her arms in,
    a slight distance from where the little pig was hunched, wide-eyed.
    Ryoga looked at her quizzically. With an effort, he leapt into her
    waiting grasp.
    "Good boy," Ukyo smiled, rubbing him on top of the head. "You
    hungry? Of course you are..." She gingerly cupped the smaller form in
    her two hands and forearms, and gently descended.
    Nabiki met Kasumi at the base of the stairs.
    "How are they?" the younger asked.
    "They're sleeping fine," Kasumi noticed, absently wiping at the hem
    of her skirt, catching it at the last step down. "In different rooms,
    that is."
    "I wouldn't have guessed. Want a snack?"
    Kasumi sighed. "I really don't know, Nabiki. I really should be
    sleeping, too..."
    "Don't worry, sis. I already cooked us up something." With that,
    Nabiki pulled her through into the kitchen.
    "Cream of mushroom soup?" Kasumi could tell from the distinct
    smell that wafted over from the pot.
    "It's instant," Nabiki lied, reaching for two bowls, "a little
    something to pass us into breakfast."
    Despite her (small, non-violent) protestations, Kasumi sat, waiting
    to be served. Nabiki soon returned, distributing the meal. The middle
    Tendo waited until the elder sibling had had a taste.
    "It's kind of different without eggs... but it's still good,
    Nabiki."
    Nabiki hoped that her calculations had been right, and nodded. She
    absently pushed her own bowl forward, and leaned on her forearms.
    "Kasumi..."
    "... hmm?" She took another mushroom piece, and nibbled on it.
    "Since... since Akane's getting married, do you think you'd want to
    go to college with me?"
    Kasumi put down the near-empty bowl, and paused to think. "... I'm
    sure that Akane would still need some training in some of the household
    chores."
    Nabiki nodded slightly. "That's why we go together. I figure a
    year or so should be enough, ne?"
    Kasumi almost acceded the point. Her sister had a familiar gleam
    in her eye. When had she seen it before? "I'm not sure. Do we have the
    money for it? And I still haven't gone to high school." She paused to
    sip some water.
    "Of course, we have money. And you could just go to a prep school
    for a year, then take the exams." Nabiki smiled. "And I don't think you
    should worry about your age."
    "Oh..." Kasumi put a hand to her head. "Nabiki, I think I'm
    more... sleepy... than I thought..." Too late, she realized that
    Nabiki's gleam was one of waiting, the one she had on Mother's funeral,
    when she was playing shogi with Father. One for distraction.
    Nabiki took the bowls, and glanced back at her unconscious sister.
    The changes have come full circle, sister. It's time for you to
    rediscover yourself.
    It'll be good for you.
    "It's good?"
    Ryoga was beginning to wonder for Ukyo's sanity. Yesterday, she
    was all daggers and heat. Today, as the sun kissed the morning awake,
    she was a little too chipper, and way, way too nice.
    Like you've always wanted her to be, something in the middle of his
    head said. He wondered obliquely who it meant when it said "her".
    "C'mon, P-chan... say 'aaaahhh...'" Ukyo fed him the last piece of
    the fifth okonomiyaki. "That's a good boy..." She took the plates and
    took them to the sink in the kitchen extension of the room.
    Ukyo was whistling a nameless tune over the hum of warm water,
    ceramic plates and soapwater. She noticed that P-chan was wandering
    aimlessly, looking for a way to get to the sink.
    "Not too fast, you." She picked up the midget porker, and headed
    back to the bed. "It's too early to get lost again."
    As they crossed the floor to the bed, Ryoga noticed the clothes he
    had left yesterday evening, draped over the couch, and squirmed noisily
    in that direction.
    Ukyo didn't need to look over her shoulder. "I know, I know..."
    Her voice was soft, and unmistakably different.
    Ryoga felt himself settled onto the cushions, and looked at Ukyo
    seat herself on the other side of the foot of the bed. She sat, not
    looking at him, rather, looking at the floor in front of him, hands to
    her sides, not quite sure what to do with them.
    Ryoga noticed, for the first time, the bow-tie. It was a yellow
    ribbon, and looked a little time-worn. Had Ukyo been wearing one before?
    He was not sure, but it seemed to be a new fashion statement. It
    accentuated her long, graceful neck.
    [And it looked like it was ripped at one end, as though it was
    looking for a soulmate.]
    "Ryoga..." Ukyo began, "can we... can you be... my pet?"
    "Dinner, my pet?"
    He cringed at that. Nodoka only called him that when she wanted
    him to do EXACTLY as she wanted him to do. The lure of a home-cooked
    meal seemed too tempting to pass up at any point, but...
    "I made your favorite..." she crooned.
    What WAS the reason why he didn't just give in to the lady's
    demands, anyway? No, the other parts of his mind reacted, the parts he
    immediately labeled as "devious and cunning". One must always keep
    appearances.
    "Nodoka," he said, suddenly serious.
    He liked the way that Nodoka stiffened under that calm, unaffected
    exterior. She cared enough to do that. Hell, she cared enough to get
    her own house, to get away from her parent's tyrannical clutches, to be
    an independent, modern woman.
    No, he just liked the way it made her breasts jut out, and the
    supple symmetry of her spine wreaked sheer havoc on his hormones.
    "Nodoka," he repeated, "I saw her today."
    Exquisite, delectable silence.
    "So... why are you here now?"
    Touché. "I-I-" Feigning nervousness never worked for him - he was
    just worried that she was going to slice off his ears later. "-I...
    wanted... to tell you... myself..." He trailed off, trying to see her
    from periphery, because he couldn't look her in any way resembling the
    straight-forward manner.
    She herself was obliquely turned away. "How about the daikon?"
    "Yes, the squid. That, too." Taking away the last strands of
    self-control he could muster, he stole into the adjoining dining room,
    admiring the romantic design of the two-seated table only for a moment,
    snatching three rings decoratively positioned in the appetizer plate.
    He stepped back into sight, leaning on the doorway, loudly
    crunching on the first of the trio of edible circles. "Mmm... the
    squid's getting cold..."
    "It can wait..." she whispered slightly, cringing with the
    tormenting dental exercise.
    "It could wait," he corrected, attacking the second ring with twice
    the fury. "'til the ring."
    With that, the third went down the gullet. Then he did the face.
    It looked like he was choking, with his eyes of different sizes.
    Slowly, stuck his tongue out -
    A gold band was on the end of it.
    "I've eaten your rings," Genma intoned, "will you wear mine?"
    


	22. Herbs and Spices: Parental Guidance


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 18 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny-weeny thanks to whoever else
    even saw this. The seeds of the righteous... never mind. It's Day 3.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Parental Guidance
    Genma Saotome woke up with a start.
    His head rang slightly, and he forced himself to stay still. He
    took in the surroundings, and found them strikingly familiar. The bed,
    the ceiling, the sheets, the weight on his chest...
    Check that last thought. He shifted a little to the closer edge of
    the bed to find his estranged wife snuggling into his arm, her head on
    his torso. He used his left hand to run his fingers through her curls;
    the right had yet to wake up.
    He had the strangest feeling that he had missed a very, very
    interesting night. He was sure it was one of over three thousand five
    hundred nights that he had already missed.
    The ninja tiptoed past the room, hoping to hear a sign - any sign -
    of the miscreant bodypainters that had used the entirety of the walls and
    ceilings of the sprawling grounds of the Kuno estate. It was highly
    likely - especially since he was the main and the only regular servant -
    that he would have to personally repaint the rooms, but he had to make
    sure that, in fact, it was not the Kuno mistress to took the steps to
    refurbish the entire color scheme.
    He snuck into Tatewaki Kuno's bedchambers.
    The bed was making very interesting gyrations and undulations.
    "A-HA! GOTCHA!" Immediately, he sprung one of the ready-made
    traps - the edges of the bedsheets were pulled up along the corners of
    the room, and met in the middle of the ceiling, suspending the suspects.
    - which made absolutely no effect on the variety and frequency of
    movement in the now-colorfully painted covers.
    "Come quietly, hooligans and vandals!" Sasuke shouted. "Er...
    hooligans... vandals?" Remembering that the young Kuno master had, in
    fact, acquired a most potent love potion, and that it was his bed... he
    made a hasty retreat, hoping to find a proper cover-up for this one.
    Coast is clear.
    The blur quickly crossed the hallway, opened the door, entered and
    shut it.
    Not willing to risk it, the inner door opened and Gosunkugi jumped
    into the bath, clothes and everything.
    "I'm a man!" He made sure, and felt his chest up, beating it to
    emphasize. "I AM A *MAN*!" Then his jaw dropped.
    Mrs. Gosunkugi was not amused as she stared back at him. Better
    have a talk with my husband on what he's been teaching Hikaru about
    manliness...
    It is a well-accepted fact of nature that, in Nerima, men are
    actually considered a commodity. Young males are grown for the express
    purpose of exportation, after eighteen years of mental and physical
    preparation, all done in collaboration with the district school
    superintendent's office.
    After the required twelve years of formal and informal schooling,
    with a large helping of physical education (and short gym shorts) and
    constant domineering female presence, young men usually decide to seek
    less overpowering partners from elsewhere.
    Breeding males are usually imported from outside the district, and
    chosen for their physical skills - more than 60% of each male generation
    is composed of martial artists in some form or another, the others mostly
    cooks and laborers. They are usually acquired through the other half of
    the breeding project - the women are bred to be bold, beautiful and
    entirely unaware of their purpose in the project.
    All, that is, except for one.
    "Hikaru," Mr. Gosunkugi once told his son and heir, "to truly be a
    man."
    "Yes, dad?"
    "Never mind." He looked at his son who was playing with the
    videocam, and shook his head - he already had his own ideas on manhood.
    A pet?
    Ryoga watched Ukyo's aura dance around her seated figure, pink
    tendrils in flux around her.
    A pet?
    He felt the dark spirits fly around his blind spots, behind him.
    His lids started to feel heavy, and a wave of nausea was starting from
    the pit of his stomach.
    A pet...?
    Was that the smile he saw all this time? Was that the sparkle that
    he thought she had in her eye? Was that why she didn't mind him being
    the pig - BECAUSE SHE ALREADY KNEW?
    A *pet*!
    She wanted HIM to be HER *PET*! Her PLAYTHING! H-Her LOVE SLAVE!
    "Argh!" Before she could stop him, he had jumped behind the couch,
    clutching his clothes in his teeth.
    The morning sun peeked from behind the cloak of night.
    "Is it okay to come out now?" it asked the moon, who had started
    to make his rounds.
    "Whatever," the moon said coolly. The moon consulted briefly with
    the positions of his fellow night-skyfarers. "Looks like a jumbled-up
    day today, though."
    "Usually does, here," the sun nodded, and started scorching the
    dawn to morn.
    Below, the first rays started to stretch above the earthen walls
    surrounding the Tendo estate, reaching for the dirt and the grass within.
    It sunned the walkway to the dojo with relative ease, and slowly shook
    the lazy molecules of air into the excitement that summer gave with the
    atmosphere, perhaps readying them into a sudden breakout of rain.
    Although the room wasn't in the direct path of radiation, Mousse
    woke in the lower guestroom. He couldn't, he knew, have been able to
    soak through his tunic with sweat, but he easily imagined it.
    He sat up and wiped his brow, as the stale air caressed his face
    with a rough palm. "Mother..." he whispered, also knowing that he had
    left her in the Amazon village. "I'm... sorry. I'm sorry, but I can't
    go home."
    He heard the door slide behind him, making him turn quickly in
    place. With anyone else, this would have been okay. With Mousse, this
    just meant that yet another pair of glasses was flung from their location
    (which was just beside him) to somewhere else (which just so happened to
    be to the corner of the room).
    "Oh, you're awake, huh?"
    "K-Kasumi?" She sounded a bit to the right. Mousse turned
    slightly until he could find a silhouette, then bowed deeply. "Thank you
    for having me over."
    "Well, since Grandfather isn't here, it's okay..."
    Mousse pulled up. "Your Grandfather sleeps here?" He squinted
    quizzically. "Kasumi?" He turned, a futile effort to locate her.
    "Kasumi? Where are you?"
    Kasumi masked giggles with a hand, and walked around the room,
    almost tripping on Mousse's bottle-bottoms. "Oh? What are these, hmm?"
    "Kasumi?" Mousse could barely make out her specter, but other than
    noting that she looked, well, shorter, he couldn't have been able to tell
    that the nightgown she was wearing was barely on her shoulders - he would
    have probably had an eyeful of back, had he an eye to see with.
    She fixed the thick frame over her ears, and peered from behind
    half-inch lenses. "It makes me so dizzy..." And with that, she fell
    backward.
    "Hey!" Mousse caught the falling Tendo as she fell back into his
    arms. By sheer luck, the glasses had fallen onto his face, through which
    he looked at the figure in his arms.
    A twelvish Kasumi Tendo giggled, and pushed the glasses to his
    forehead. "You look cuter without them," she explained.
    Happosai sat up. "What, morning already?"
    Counting exactly three hours (an extra hour, since he hadn't slept
    since the day before yesterday), the old pervert readied his squirt guns
    and sailed through the air, away from the Tendo household, with the
    greatest of ease.
    Nabiki watched as Soun propped himself up with a wedding.
    At least, the wedding preparations. From behind the stage (a bit
    of flooring which easily slips away into music studio portion of the
    dojo), Soun pulled out streamers, pink and white, and congratulatory
    flower-stands he blew the dust out of - with an appraising glance, she
    noted that the roses and orchids were made of reusable plastics and
    cloths.
    Something was off with his step, though. A hesitation, a very keen
    sense of not-wanting to continue. Maybe it was because his dear friend
    wasn't here, at the penultimate moment of their families' joining (who
    had most likely jumped at the chance to escape duty - although he'd never
    been absent when this particular event seemed even remotely possible).
    Maybe it was because he was anticipating trouble, even knew it was
    coming. Maybe he was wishing Mom was here.
    She saw him take out a curiously old wad of paper. Maybe he was
    afraid of the money... She shook her head. Not today, though.
    She'd be awake now. Nabiki silently took her leave, making her own
    preparations.
    There were, after all, benefits in being a cat.
    Besides the increased mobility, there's also the heightened senses
    - both very useful when tracking prey.
    She could smell him: the cold, diluted sweat; the unmistakable
    musk of him (especially since he hadn't had a bath in one and a half
    days); was that a turkey sandwich on rye?; there was also an alien
    smell - discomfiture? She could imagine him, not used to sleeping at
    someone else's house - no, no, wait... yes, now she was certain.
    It was the scent of a woman.
    She bristled at the very thought of it. Sure, he was angry at her,
    but how could he just go and sleep with some other woman?! MEN!
    With a snarl, Shampoo jumped into the now closed dojo window.
    "Again! Will the Fates forever be jealous of my love, fair and
    true, to find its ultimate fulfillment so disagreeable? Must they cast
    from their heavens bitter glances and hardwood boards upon my person?"
    Kuno removed his family's sign sticking out from a niche in his
    skull, and considered his especially important cargo. Despite the fact
    that the ramen had gotten cold and slightly dusty, it had gone unscathed.
    "Soon, soon, my love..." He took faster steps into the estate.
    Cologne slept soundly for the next few minutes. No details are
    available.
    The first thoughts after waking are often the ones that determine
    the attitude of the person for the morning and, by domino effect, most of
    the day.
    Paint the picture then: you are a middle-aged woman. You married
    a nomadic, easy-go-lucky martial artist to get away from rich,
    overbearing, traditionalist parents. You live a few years of relatively
    poor and obscure married life. You bear a child with him, after six
    years of which, they leave you. In ten years of waiting, letters,
    paranoia, on-and-off depression, it hits you - mid-life crisis. Your
    life hinges on the return of your family - a payment in full of past
    promises.
    Just the day before, you meet with someone who has seen your
    family. He tells you the reason why you have never seen your family, and
    why you never will.
    Your son, the little boy you loved more than you ever could if he
    were on your bosom now, has been sold into a Chinese slave market.
    Your husband had been living off of the triad money, had several
    affairs, only one of which has bred a daughter, who he and his friend
    Soun Tendo has been passing off as a relation, Ranko Tendo.
    You almost kill an innocent child, in blind rage.
    You wake up.
    A soft hand struggled unfamiliarly with the curls, pulling softly
    as though unsurely smoothing them straight.
    She lifted her head to see the barefaced child staring intently at
    his hand, eyes watery and lip slightly puckered, quietly shaking. Genma
    traced just above her jaw, along the side of her face, but when his small
    fingers caressed the tell-tale pallor of her cheek and the forgotten
    depths of smile at the side of her mouth, he could only close his eyes
    and pull away, unable to completely stop his tears from flowing down
    unlined skin.
    "Oh! I'm sorry!" Nodoka sat up, giving the child's body some
    leeway as she pushed off the bed. "Where does it hurt?"
    Genma peered at her through his slightly puffy eyes. His throat
    felt dry and hot - he tempted himself to speak. No - he moaned, and put
    his hand over his heart.
    "There?" she asked, taking the blanket aside. He was wearing one
    of Ranma's old t-shirts - she thought that he was about his age when he
    was... she raised the shirt a little and felt his ribs. "Here?"
    Genma shook his head and took her hand - it looked large in his.
    She felt the clamminess of his palm and the rapid, frenzied pace of his
    beating pulse.
    "You've still got a fever..." She tried to pull away, but he held
    her fast, with much more force than she would have expected. She shot
    him a berating look, with which he locked gazes with her.
    "Please..." His lips were still quivering.
    She wanted to go - she had to catch her husband at the Tendos. She
    knew that time was of the essence - she did not want to lose her resolve,
    not when the honor of her family was in question.
    With a deliberately slow motion, Nodoka lay her head down on
    Genma's chest, letting out a long sigh.
    "Wakey-wakey..." Nabiki put her hands to her waist and blew
    through thinned lips.
    The kitchen was clean - too clean. She closed the door and took a
    few steps before she heard Kasumi shriek.
    "NO!"
    This wasn't going very well. Ukyo jumped over the couch, but she
    couldn't place where Ryoga went. "Wait! Come back! RYOGA!"
    She didn't even feel her legs give way as she sagged against the
    back of the sofa. "What's wrong with me...?" She desperately hugged her
    legs to close her leaky eyes. "Why do they keep running away?"
    She swallowed the frog she had in her throat in a painful gulp that
    made her breathe heavily and uneasily. The throbbing of her tiring heart
    pounded at her ribs, begging for release, for solace.
    She started to shake, a spasm brought about by frustration and loss
    and dejection. Then, finally, the hiccuping started.
    It came through the hyperventilation, causing her to cough badly.
    The second caused her to squinch her eyes, and by the fourth, she was on
    her side, curled up in a fetal position.
    Ukyo felt it all: the tightening in her chest, the burning tears
    on her cheeks, the ribbon on her neck that would be her velvet noose, and
    the soreness of her limbs victim to the attack from within. In her mind,
    she fought the weakness and the darkness eating away at her resolve and
    her vision, but her energy was sapped by the body she sought to use with
    it.
    Before she finally succumbed, she was sure she felt the strong and
    muscled arms of death take her in his warm embrace.
    "What a cute kitty!"
    Mousse felt Kasumi bound out of his personal space. Cats, eh? He
    didn't have any problem with them in the broadest sense. Mousse slipped
    his glasses back to his face to see -
    Nabiki slammed the door open. "Kasumi!" Mousse better not be
    trying to make the mov-
    Shampoo gawked openly. *She* was who Mousse was with? She must be
    six or seven years younger - what is she doing?
    Kasumi stared back at the unsure feline from her vantage point -
    that is, lying down and at about eye-level. She blinked, then smiled
    openly. "What a pretty kitty..." then she moved to stroke the cat behind
    its ears.
    Nabiki took a look at Kasumi, then at Shampoo, then finally at
    Mousse, who stared back, indicating that he had absolutely no idea what
    was going on.
    "Hey, Nabiki," Kasumi asked, "do you think it'd be okay with Father
    and Akane if we had a cat for a pet?"
    Nabiki considered Shampoo, who considered her with curiosity, and
    thought that she had no idea, either. "I'm sure we could ask them later,
    sis."
    "Okay," said the now-younger elder sister, who took Shampoo to her
    chest and petted her. For some reason, Shampoo seemed contented by this
    - she even purred and presented her neck to Kasumi's ministrations.
    "Umm, Kasumi," Mousse began.
    "Kasumi?" Nabiki interjected. "Could you give Mousse the kitty
    and help me with something?"
    Kasumi's face was aglow, an effect of the word "help". "Of course,
    I can, Nabiki-oneechan!" followed by her virtually pitching the hapless
    feline in Mousse's general direction.
    "Alley-oop" was all Mousse said as he set the cursed Amazon lightly
    for the semi-massive cesta volley that lobbed her through the ceiling
    and...
    Yuka yawned as she waited for him to come.
    She hadn't been waiting long, no - the fact was she had just
    arrived at about eight to eight, just early enough to say she'd been
    waiting and just a minute before she felt the pangs of sleepiness.
    With a sluggish arm, she brushed away at the fog with which the
    morning had lidded her eyes. She breathed in again, deeply through the
    nose - and smiled. The park in the morning always seemed alive with the
    buzzing of a thousand dreams: in the bushes, in the chains of the
    swings, in the dew, in the slides.
    She had her own dreams, true... and they were goals, too. It was
    time to make efforts to move towards them.
    "Five yen for your thoughts?"
    ["That should be one yen," she didn't say. "A penny for your
    thoughts, a nickel for your kiss, a dime if you tell me that you love me,
    remember? It's still a hundred yen to a dollar, right?"]
    The voice and the hand on her shoulder, light as the contact had
    been, carried her over the threshold of consciousness. "You're late."
    "After consultation with my watch, which you know is synchronized
    (to the second) with the watch at Furinkan High, I am actually one minute
    early for our eight o'clock appointment."
    He looked so serious that Yuka couldn't help but giggle. "But
    you're never less than five minutes early for anything."
    He sat down on the bench and started to run his fingers through her
    hair, which she had worn loose today - the action freed the smell of
    lilacs and honeydew that tickled his senses. "Really? Never noticed."
    She turned her head to her back, where he sat. "You're teasing."
    He nodded and nimbly traced the knots in her back as they had begun
    appearing. "Always, never. Had breakfast yet?"
    Yuka closed her eyes and wondered if she had any dresses with a
    wider neckline. She hummed in response.
    He pulled himself closer along the bench, kneading the knots atop
    her shoulder blades with the bottoms of his thumbs, his arms folding at
    the elbows near the small of her back. She wasn't even beginning to
    relax - he felt his gut tightening with each shuddering breath she would
    take, or skip.
    She could sense his hesitation, his uncertainty, the unasked
    question in waveform. She bent her neck slightly forward and pulled her
    hair up into a small unobstructive bun.
    She could sense him shooting questioning glances around. Only the
    buzzing answered him, an aura of curiosity and wonderment - would he
    chase this dream before him?
    After a moment, he placed his clammy palms on either side of her
    neck, at its junction with her shoulders.
    She ignored the chill, and smiled - so he wasn't as smooth and as
    suave as he wanted. He massaged the base, deep and to the sides, but too
    lightly and too weakly to provide any real therapy.
    "No, like this." She took his hands in hers, much like the straps
    of a schoolbag. He clasped them loosely at first, then gingerly, taking
    the warmth gladly. Holding her breath, she pulled his arms forward and
    herself backward, giving him all the feeling of her melting in his
    embrace.
    "Thanks," she purred into his neck, "I'm so relaxed now."
    She grinned, a small grin, as he tugged at the collar of his shirt.
    "That would be... ironic."
    She feigned inattention, playing with the digits in her grasp on
    her lap. "I guess you would be tense, since you're so comfortable being
    'just friends'."
    "No, it's not that." He nudged her with his arm, as though in
    reassurance. "It's not that at all."
    "Is it... him?" she wanted to know. "You know it's over between
    us already." She let go of his hands and turned slightly, grabbing hold
    of the back of the bench. "He's not gonna try and get me back, if that's
    what you're thinking." And not because it was you.
    "Nope." He looked her in the eye and shook his head emphatically.
    "I'm sure he won't."
    "Then why, Daisuke?" She pulled herself up, a motion ending with
    her sitting on his lap. "Tell me why we have to keep this from Akane and
    the others."
    Daisuke didn't look like he wanted to get into an argument just
    then. "It's not Akane, or Ranma, that I'm worried about."
    Yuka prettily blew air out through her pouting lips. "We've been
    trying to get them together for more than two years now. Sayuri's been
    holding out for the longest time now, but I don't see why. Your friend's
    never shown any kind of interest in her."
    He recognized that tone of voice. "What did Hiroshi try to pull on
    you now?"
    Her eyes traced the agonizingly slow path of the tip of her
    forefinger, much like the blade of an axe, as it landed on, bounced off
    of and landed again on his nose. "Nothing."
    "Nothing?" He blinked - this was far worse. "Then...?"
    She softened - she even curled into an almost grin. "It's just
    that," and here she lost all trace of mirth, "it seemed he had a greater
    interest in me than you did."
    "Yuka..." he started pathetically.
    "Don't" was sharp. "Don't 'Yuka' me, Daisuke."
    He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and swayed them.
    "Yuka..." he said into the flesh of her arm, not quite kissing it, but
    caressing it nonetheless.
    She frowned. He mumbled. She bit the frog - and broke into peals
    of demure, uncontrollable laughter. "No fair!"
    He stopped, point made.
    The sound of walking souls, waking to the new day, was all and none
    around them.
    Yuka could not bear the silence, or the way that Daisuke had seemed
    to stop, hovering just over what she was now sure to be an erogenous
    zone. "Well?"
    "Mai gmes-"
    She whapped him. "Don't do that!"
    Daisuke extracted his face from her arm. "Sorry."
    Don't be. "You were saying?"
    Instead of answering immediately, he tilted his head upward, as
    though trying to catch a glimpse of the train of her thoughts from her
    delicate earlobes. They weren't large, smallish but adequate - they
    barely exceeded the fleshy arc between his thumb and his forefinger, as
    he brushed her hair lightly, fixing the strands in the cusp behind her
    ear.
    Yuka hid her grin with downcast eyes - he always seemed to bridge
    their light banter with profound silences; always, she found herself in
    his gentle touch, never embraced, just tangent, as though on the verge of
    intersecting, of uniting. The familiar motion beckoned her - she
    repeated his motion, smoothing the curves, chasing him across the waves
    of her changing mood - and finding him, just in the place she'd normally
    look last.
    His eyes spoke volumes, all irrelevant. "You're right."
    His eyes spoke volumes more, through a glassy lens. "Me, right?
    About what?"
    "It probably would be better if they knew. I mean, Akane and
    Ranma." He nodded slightly, as though affirming this to himself.
    "Besides, I'd have trouble explaining this."
    He pulled his hand away from hers - and in-between her fingers,
    which she had to pull from the coils of her hair, was a ring.
    Daisuke smiled at the genuine confusion she wore. "Happy three-
    month anniversary, Yuka."
    Yuka jumped from the ring, to Daisuke's amused expression, back to
    the ring, which was now being fitted to her left ring finger - it was
    more than she could take. She held him close, so that he wouldn't see
    her... unprofessional reactions. She wiped away, the sobs barely
    audible.
    That was when they got drenched.
    "Whew."
    It was amazing. Tsubasa felt so exhilarated, it was like he was
    floating. He looked at her, this nameless beauty in his very arms, and
    wondered if this was all a dream.
    That was when his body gave up.
    He slumped, and seams began to burst... the ripping sound was
    unheard, and...
    "It just had to r-"
    It just had to rain today, Yuka's mind supplied. Her mouth flapped
    semi-uselessly. It would be so embarrassing if I didn't wear a *poke*.
    "Poke?" her mouth said.
    She opened her eyes, and noticed that she was leaning forward a
    little too precariously off-balance. That would be strange, since she
    was leaning on Daisuke - unless he shrank.
    "Shrank?" her mouth supplied.
    Stop doing that, she chided. So, it was Daisuke who was poking her
    in the chest. Aren't his arms around her shoulders?
    "Sh-"
    In conclusion, her brain was saying, the person I am hugging is not
    Daisuke.
    The person she was hugging was, in fact, shivering.
    Curious, Yuka extracted herself from the other's limp arms, and
    pushed her to a small distance.
    Daisuke's jet-black hair, slick with rain. Daisuke's chinky eyes,
    though wide with surprise and dread. Small cheekbones, barely visible.
    Full, pouting lips. Analysis: inconclusive - continue check.
    "Y-Yuka..."
    Voice-match: inconclusive - continue check.
    Daisuke's t-shirt, now wet. 34C. Definitely not Daisuke's. Arms
    slender and similarly wet. Female. Daisuke's shirt is loose but
    translucent over her. (Why am I shivering?) "Yuka..." Voice-check:
    unfami-Daisuke-inconclusive - continue check. Daisuke's pants.
    Daisuke's shoes. (Why are my lips quivering?) She's feeling her chest -
    unnatural. Check completed.
    She stared at Daisuke's changed form, her head shaking from side to
    side, slowly at first. Daisuke's fingers confirmed the worst, and he
    mouthed the words "Oh no".
    A swift wind threatened to swoop, noticed a mob of women, changed
    direction and made chase.
    "Have you got it?"
    The accomplice nodded. With a turn, she was gone.
    "Where's Kasumi?"
    Nabiki turned from the back door. "She's just gone to send some
    invitations."
    Soun nodded. "Oh, okay." He stopped. "Invitations for what,
    Nabiki?"
    "For the wedding, Daddy."
    "Oh, okay. Wait a minute..."
    "She'll be here before lunch." The doorbell. "I wonder who that
    is."
    Minutes later, Nodoka Saotome found Ranma.
    


	23. Herbs and Spices: Chapter 19


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices: Chapter 19 (/22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny-weeny thanks to whoever else
    even saw this. The seeds of the righteous... never mind. It's Day 3.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    "I believed in you."
    He stared at the head that did not speak. "I believe you, Dad."
    His father stared back at him, with soft eyes. In a female voice,
    Genma didn't say, "what does this mean?"
    His father stared back at him, with soft eyes. In a female voice,
    Genma didn't say, "eep?"
    Something good was burning up. Someone was singing: "how would we
    have loved to be the other choice?"
    There was a boat sailing into the horizon, where the sun was
    already setting. He tickled the chin of the one he loved with his right
    hand.
    His fiancée stared back at him, with soft eyes. In a female voice,
    Akane didn't say, "eep?"
    "How would it have been in the other hand?"
    Someone tugged at his left hand. The bokken seemed stiff as Ranma
    said, "I believed in you."
    Irritated, he took a clump of her red hair in his hand and purred.
    The sizzling sound increased. "How I've wanted to hear, in your
    voice."
    His fiancée stared back at him, with soft eyes. In a female voice,
    Akane didn't say, "what does this mean?"
    He screamed at the flaming sun, sailing into the horizon. "I
    believe you, Dad."
    The sun boiled back, and he felt a sunbeam swipe at him, like a
    katana thrown at light-speed. Akane was burning, "leave me again, will
    you?"
    Ukyo painted her face with dribbling sauce. "All the songs which
    rhymed my name."
    He melted in the heat of their blazing tongues.
    "Finally!" The doors boomed closed in Kuno's Regal Domicile.
    Kuno, as do most eccentrics populating the Kuno Residence, had more
    than one bedroom that he called his own. His Samurai's Slumber, his
    Poet's Purchase, his Old Room... and this, the Master's Bedroom.
    (Actually, the Master's Bedroom is what Kodachi calls the basem...)
    Here, and only here, will he receive the attentions of...
    The bed - sparse, clean and untainted.
    He had had the oddest sensation - the most peculiar sound... like
    the breaking of hems... or -
    "Of course!" he shouted. "The sound is only," whip! the motion of
    a fast-moving sleeve, "the rumbling of the very heavens!" Maniacally, he
    hefted the battered noodle cup in one hand, defying the godly decrees in
    their elemental grumblings.
    "Bray! Stamp the heavens underfoot in your jealous rage!" He
    himself took to the bed, not even bothering to balance himself rightly,
    soon doing so anyway. "Not even your lightning tridents and your creaky
    ceiling boards can stop true love!" Kuno guffawed as he stared at the
    highly-regarded instant meal, and saw... creaky ceiling boards?
    *ssssszzzzzkkRACK!*
    Stunned by the evident multi-colored moon hanging slightly above
    his bed, Tatewaki Kuno was unable to deflect the falling Tsubasa's
    hindquarters as it hit the ramen cup, tipping it in the now very
    unbalanced Kuno's hand. All the mighty Blue Thunder could say as he saw
    Tsubasa's blue boxers falling into his face was "AH-HAH-HAH-HAH-HAG-
    glmph?!"
    Without malice.
    Without malice, her mind insisted, as she dredged it up from the
    gutter, along with some other aspects of her. I don't care whatever the
    hell he does, or who he does it with. I don't care, she lied.
    Slowly, deliberately, Shampoo lifted herself out of the trash bin
    (comforted slightly by the fact that it did not make any moves on her).
    She barely bothered to shake the shit out of her hairs - a hot bath would
    make her change her mind about that.
    About... him, though - that was a different matter. Something had
    to be done - soon.
    She jumped onto the quickest path to the Cat Cafe, barely avoiding
    a rushing blur in apron strings.
    This is just so #$%$ kewl!
    It was just so much like Saotome to not understand the power (!) he
    had been throwing away and had been taking for granted. Knowing him,
    he'd be using his "curse" to sate his carnal instincts - or maybe to
    force Aka- NO!
    "H-how dare you, R-Ranma!" Pulling on his sleeves, he tied his
    candle headdress on, and started to pound a well-oiled nail into a straw
    Ranma-quin.
    "Hikaru! Stop that racket and come down here this instant!"
    The implements of symbolic (and hopefully representative) pain and
    torture quickly disrevealed themselves as Gosunkugi meekly replied.
    "Yes, mother." He'd already stepped in on her today - trying to be on
    the safe side was always a good deal [2].
    Strangely enough, Mrs. Gosunkugi was more concerned in a positive
    manner than usual, that is, concerned in a negative manner. "A letter
    just arrived from a little girl for you." She handed him a light pink
    envelope, with just a hint of perfumery.
    "A-A little g-girl?" Had he not been tripping over the last word,
    he might have gone several ways: he might have realized "a girl, for
    me?"; he might have realized "a girl gave me a note?"; he might have
    realized "a girl gave me a PERFUMED note?"; he might have realized "wait
    - do I know any little girls?"; after the last thought, he would have
    realized, "that must have been Miss Hinako...", which would have gotten
    him nowhere, unless he asked his mother (politely, of course), "did this
    little girl have long brown hair?" to which his mother would have
    replied, "yes, Hikaru, she did," then she would have slyly added, "is she
    someone I should know?" - he would have then shrugged it off by saying,
    "oh, she's my teacher," and his mother would have gotten the completely
    wrong idea that Hikaru had been taking Home Ec class. Instead, he took
    the note, said, "thanks, mom," and trampled on upstairs. It was in his
    room when he eventually ran through the trouble mentioned above (having
    to peek downstairs at the last).
    At last, he read the note.
    [2] The myth of the good deal is prevalent throughout different
    schools of thought and crosses cultural boundaries. For a more elaborate
    discussion of its related pantheons, read "The Wealth of Nations" by
    Sainted CEO Adam Smith.
    "Oh dear." She pulled away from him slowly, but firmly, holding
    him with her eyes. "Don't, don't move. I'll be right back."
    He noticed it much sooner than she did - lightly fried fish,
    doubtlessly blistering lightly over a very thin layer of vegetable oil.
    A bottle of pickled radishes standing near the pan and, yes, two eggs,
    scrambled.
    He crept out of bed, inching by the wall, checking on his toes and
    the floor and made sure that nothing was coming between them. He edged
    to the doorframe and dared to peek out into the short corridor.
    There she was, apron all ready, whipped around her bodice - you
    could not tell it was whipped, hastily at first. It was the single most
    attractive piece of clothing she had - the broad frills would make lace
    blush - the sweet, sensual curves of the simple cloth, accentuated by the
    subtle artistry of the tones of the burn stains, the tints of condiments
    spilled with the greatest care, amongst the oily kissmarks flavored with
    spice and appetite which begged for more than bread and circuses, all
    arranged across the canvass spanning her body, her heart, her soul.
    But that was to the further side, as she had her back turned to
    him. At this moment, it was the strings of that self-same apron that
    were taunting him, begging him to release them. Her focus was on the pan
    an the spatula - she would not notice him taking off the fabulously
    daring *phsh*.
    "Oh, you cheat!" She assumed the position: arms akimbo, hips set
    back, face readably unreadable. "Didn't I tell you that you needed to
    wait in bed? You're such a naughty boy!"
    "I'd rather show you," he said, grabbing her fully in his arms,
    keeping the culinary lingerie between him and her bountiful...
    "Show me what?"
    Genma's grin disappeared. He stopped his turning, cocked his head
    to one side, noting that Nodoka was wrestling with the eggs she had
    barely saved from severely burning, and that the apron had been discarded
    in a heap on the edge of the sink. He had not noticed in front of him -
    it was probably a new old addition, and the child before him would have
    been familiar to his estranged wife, had they known each other longer -
    the child he had once been, when he was of the age of Ranma when he...
    "Oh... I'm a little too dizzy... don't, mind, m-"
    Somewhere, someone really smart was keeping tabs on the population
    of Nerima.
    That is to say, probably. The conspiracy theorists have been
    adamant that if Tokyo was monitored with eagle eyes, Nerima would not be
    looked over. Rife with overpowered overnight visitations and tremendous
    wastes of energy and manpower, Nerima was the distraction under which the
    whole world played cricket.
    You would imagine the Kunos would have their hand in that -
    paranoia is kind of their shtick - and it would be within their budget
    and reasoning - although it would seem a little too devious for the
    principal or any of the younger Kunos.
    It wouldn't, however, be such a wasteful investment - especially
    for large companies with an interest in the anomalies plaguing such an
    unassuming piece of surreal estate. Amazingly enough, it also would not
    have to be done obviously or overtly - and it needn't even be done in
    chronological order.
    Hanayoshi Mansion, morning.
    "Click."
    A pair of eyes opened, the shutters of a keen analytic machine
    drawing open with the hair-trigger trap set by one who really, really
    didn't know why it had to be set in the first place. "Unnnnghhh."
    Barely-focused eyes could scarcely detect anything of importance.
    However, details do not need to be seen for a suspicion to be founded -
    foremost on detection is motion, followed by color.
    What she saw was a blue-shifting brownish blur passing across the
    plane of her vision, from left to right.
    "Wha-?" she was in the middle of saying, when she was lifted into
    the air. Lifted, of course, was literal, but she fell (again, really)
    onto her couch (only by definition), which cushioned (two-way literal)
    her bottom (figurative - lit. dorsal end) - which was very strange,
    because her "couch" was notorious for resembling a pagan sacrificial
    altar with its stiffness and the hell you feel sitting on it; her back
    still bore the marks of a cramp it had kneaded over the night.
    It felt fluffy.
    "Whaaaaaa..." was what she said, the unusual softness blunting her
    cutthroat response. Having to remind herself that her apartment was
    being invaded by a rampaging washing machine, she fought sleep and rolled
    off of the sitting-thing.
    Before she landed on the wooden floor (which now shone with a clean
    that had never before been seen by the floor itself), she engaged her
    onboard Shuffle mechanisms, and sped after the chirping ruddy blur.
    As Hinako sped behind the other, details were beginning to make
    themselves out and the voice was coming to intelligible pitch, with
    Doppler and relativistic effects reduced significantly. The other girl
    was obviously highly displeased with the care and maintenance of the
    "household" and was adamant about the immediate rehabilitation of the
    area, while she was around to do something.
    "Stop it!" she yelled.
    Despite the remarkable speeds that they were going, the intruder
    stopped immediately, turned, and saw Hinako's wide-eyed expression as
    they nearly crashed into each other.
    "Are you okay, teacher Hinako?" Kasumi asked as she held out a
    hand to the disciplinarian English instructor.
    Not even bothering to brush the dust from off of herself, she
    immediately started to look for one of her coins. "Who are you, what are
    you doing here, why are you-?"
    "Here," Kasumi simply said, smiling, leaving her with an invite,
    and zooming off to the next stop.
    "H-hey! Hey, you, miss!" She clutched the card, and stared, more
    than slightly afraid, of the strange, wide-open space she had in which
    she ended up, in her apartment. "Where am I?"
    Strangely, Ryoga knew exactly where he was.
    He longingly looked at the peaceful calm that was Ukyo's sleeping
    form. Her breathing had finally lost the stutter of her hiccuping a
    half-hour ago.
    He wanted - even tried to will - her to wake up. He wanted to tell
    her how sorry he was about all this, how he wanted to leave now, rather
    than cause her distress, respiratory or otherwise. She'd always have
    Ranma - well, actually, she'd never have Ranma, but she'll always have
    the thought of him.
    He wondered if she would be happy to trade thoughts with him - she,
    with her perfect impression of a void - he, with his endless
    embarrassments and humiliations. Would she still love him, knowing full-
    well how much a jerk Ranma really is?
    He wanted that peace of mind, a trade for a piece of his mind.
    He wanted a piece of her mind.
    And what would he see, through that shard of her soul? Dedication,
    hard work, a list of options of which he was a pathetic bottom-liner.
    Did it matter? He was just a viable alternative - she was just
    rebounding from a depressing episode. He was a friend, a good friend and
    - at least, this time - a real friend.
    She'd always been there for him - or had she?
    Was he?
    He shook his head - sentimentality made for a poor martial art.
    From his angle, he just noticed a glow. A nearly invisible trail
    from the side of Ukyo's eye, to the side of her cheek, and down the side
    of her face glittered, a pure facet of her heart making itself known.
    Somewhere between tentatively and eagerly, his fingertips traced the
    texture of the teardrop stretching itself into disappearance.
    It was then he promised to watch for each tear as it became too
    heavy for her to keep.
    The blue void screamed obscenities at about fourteen hundred
    syllables per second, howling at frequencies that could be felt by the
    fingertips, if one dared to touch his nemesis.
    It blared out its oaths through thousand-watt speakers, woofers and
    tweeters, focused intently on the confines of the room. Beneath it, a
    warning light blinked unheeded, unconcerned with the particulars and the
    circumstances.
    Steady, calming gusts of wind at nineteen degrees fell much like
    rainclouds, stoking the dying embers, keeping them from erupting into
    chaos and heat. Had they just blown in, they might have smothered the
    flames, killed the senses at their source.
    Hulking monoliths and precariously piled-up mounds of plastic,
    fabric and paper sat to obstruct and to obfuscate, a miniature labyrinth
    that often came to shin-high, often to knee-high, jutting out to snag at
    the hips. Under such terrible curses as flooded this ravine, they shook
    with the littlest of indignation, resonating only because they must,
    indifferent without the air of carelessness.
    The only hint of metal came from a gentle creaking of an overused
    door, a nervous chattering between jealous lovers. Footsteps - cautious,
    steady, as though not to upset the very hairs of the muffling carpet.
    Cautious, as they trod lightly, respectfully - cautious, or familiar.
    Eyes flew lightly on the bright whistles and the red blares, set in
    a black box that has known of all sort of experience. A clucking - the
    filled capsule is replaced, not even ejected, by one, empty - the alarms
    ceased.
    Slipping the jacket onto the incriminating module, the intruder
    turned his attention to the slumbering mound huddling near a wall.
    "Moron," he said, turning off the television set, then making his way out
    of his younger brother's room.
    Winter silence ruled.
    The door blasted open, sending stacks of manga and CDs into beds of
    used clothes. "HEYA, FRECKLES!"
    'Freckles', unfortunately, had only one mouth. His one brain,
    which suddenly found a way to assert its control, needed to say several
    different things: "what time is it?" for waking up; "what do YOU
    want?" for the hour; "watch it!" for the door; "watch it!" for the
    stuff on the floor; "don't you know how to knock?" for his sister;
    "can you say that a little louder, some people in Hokkaido didn't hear
    you" for the volume; "'room' to you, too" for the pun; "eep!" for when
    he realized that he fell asleep watching. He ended up sitting and
    stretching, with one foot lashing out, the other foot reaching for his
    VHS player, a hand scratching head through his perpetually brown
    tumbleweed hair, the other pointing to the sibling then to the door then
    to the floor, his mouth engaged only in saying "geez!" However,
    Hiroshi's mouth could not even be trusted to such a simple task as that;
    besides, it wasn't even everything - some people are just so impatient.
    "Geezzzz, Mary Louise albino!" It wasn't really such a big slip.
    His sister did her part in shutting him up with an envelope.
    He eyed the squarish note, noticing the sweet smell that was
    wafting into his nostrils. "Open it!" she suggested.
    He took the invite slowly, edging when his sister leaned on her
    arms, extremely intent on the contents of her errand. "Who's't frrom?"
    "Dunno. This kid brought it, said it was yours." She leaned
    again, not even wary of his morning breath. "So, who's it from? Is it
    Sa-?"
    He shot her a look that said nothing nice, and pulled the flap.
    She sat across the table from him, eyeing him as he devoured the
    portion of breakfast that she had given him. He had discarded the
    glasses he had been wearing the night before, not needing them to see
    clearly.
    She herself had no appetite, quickly losing both direction and
    conviction, as feelings of sympathetic maternal concern washed over her.
    The child had obviously come to her after she had yelped (screamed, most
    likely) in a mixture of fatigue and despair from brutally training with
    the sword. Although he seemed vaguely familiar, she could not assign a
    name to his face - peculiar, as he would have had to be a neighbor's
    child. But what mother of this day and age would not be anxious over the
    overnight disappearance of her little boy?
    And, yet, her longing increased, the sharp double-edge of her
    razor-sharp hurt ebbing, dulling into that throbbing pain in her temples.
    A part of her wanted replacement, a filling-in. Selfish, so selfish, she
    chided herself, but she still fantasized about the child in front of her,
    watching him grew, blossom, live his years with her...
    She hadn't even noticed the tears, until she saw him shuttle
    between forced inattention and concern. She demurely sniffed, bringing a
    tissue to her eye.
    He mumbled something she didn't hear, as she was drowning herself
    in sigh and he had his head bowed, but at her prompt, he turned to look
    at her with his hawk-like gaze and repeated: "Do you miss him that
    much?"
    She could not stutter. "Yes..."
    She heard the chair move backward, and the pitter-patter of his
    steps began, and began to recede. "Wait!"
    "No." Genma halted, nonetheless. "If I do, all you think of if
    the child you've been missing." He walked, dreaming to be faster, but
    whispered, at the door, "but I missed you, too."
    "Now, now, what could that racket be?"
    The caterwauling in the alley was definitely louder than
    yesterday's clanging, and definitely more disquieting - it was the sound
    of an Amazon warrior in hell.
    Cologne opened the back door to the knocking that was barely heard
    over the din. "Eh?"
    Shampoo hung drained, bloodied, hair in clumps, yet still kicking,
    clawing, squirming in the grasp of her diabolic tormentor, screaming
    bloody murder. She reeked of defeat, of gutter madness, of slowly,
    stolidly amassing power - concentration which would be her be-all and her
    end-all.
    The vile torturer merely smiled, and scrubbed the cat with a rough
    cloth, taking care to avoid the vicious claws, which had already broke
    their owner's flesh.
    "Here," Kasumi said, handing the noisy feline and two letters.
    "You might want her cleaned up first."
    With that, Kasumi zoomed off.
    "... this just in: a full-grown alligator has been caught in the
    Nerima district of Tokyo just minutes ago. This large adult specimen was
    captured with much difficulty and only through the efforts of ten brave
    zookeepers from the local district zoo.
    "The zoo superindentent has denied the suspicions of a fresh
    outbreak of a yet undiscovered freshwater strain of Mad Cow Disease.
    Several such incidents of the disease have been reported in the said
    district within the last year.
    "A reliable source has mentioned strips of cloth hanging from the
    beast's mouth, indicating one or more casualties. More news in an hour.
    Good morning."
    "Honey?"
    He tuned down the TV. "Yes."
    "Is Daisuke still in his room?"
    Footsteps. An opening door. "Nope."
    "Well, this girl came and - wait." A smile slowly resounded.
    "Dad! Do you know anyone named Yuka?"
    Eventually, of course, he had to come back to the scene of the
    crime.
    After all, Sasuke Sarugakure was the loyal and humble servant to
    the great Kuno clan. No matter what the circumstance, he would have to
    fulfill his duty, even in the face of the most lethal of punishments
    awaiting.
    Case in point: it was time to fix the sheets.
    Not to say that he couldn't be nervous - he waited just past the
    large doors to Tatewaki Kuno's, err, the Kuno master bedroom.
    He had almost mustered the courage to step up to the door and
    wonder whether he would knock on it or not, he heard a rumbling just
    outside the gate. "That must be the people come to repair the piping."
    However, instead of stopping outside the gate, the rumbling grew
    closer. "Eh?" He turned about, and gaped in horror at the monstrosity
    that was heading his way along the corridor. "Saaaaaasssuuuukkeeeeee..."
    "ack!" He stepped backward, knowing full well that there was no
    way to turn. He would valiantly stand ground, protecting lord, liege...
    "Sorry, Master." He opened the door and slammed it behind him.
    Moments later, a mob crashed into the largest room of the Kuno
    mansion and made a big mess, too.
    If she was asked, she would have never been able to tell a soul why
    she danced like she did with him: slow, effortless, head lain on his
    shoulder. Maybe, for that moment in time, she never existed. That it
    was a moment skewered, not connected to the past, not possessing a
    future.
    Whatever enchantment was cast, she shrugged it off at the end of
    the wordless song. Forcing herself to look him in the eye, she started,
    "I..."
    "I love you."
    She blinked.
    He blinked.
    They smiled. Smiled at the slip, smiled at the mistake they almost
    made, over a shared moment.
    They both knew, of course, knew of the love that had blossomed
    between the two of them, knew of the sacrifices they were making for the
    true loves they were questing.
    Positively poetic - their greatest obstacles were themselves.
    They parted, fingers and tails turning into smoke, indifferent gray
    in the black and white of love and hate.
    She began to panic. Was this pain? An error?
    She sought his face, a sign to assure.
    but she could not see further than his lips...
    blooming, spitting, cussing, praising, calming, shouting, moaning, being
    closer and closer and closer an closer an closer n deeper n smoothern kis
    Ukyo woke with a yelp.
    She gulped breaths as she sat up - immediately assigning the pain
    to her temples.
    The room glowed with ambient sunlight, setting the time to about
    half-past ten in the morning. It made the gloominess stick to the walls
    and the floor and the wood, aerating with authority and timeliness.
    A hand covered her forehead - the heat did not come from fever -
    and rotated the flesh at the sides of her head. The other hand traced
    the dryness of her lips, a side effect of not being out in the sun for
    how long.
    Without turning, the second hand roved the sheets, blindly crossing
    silk dunes - finding a familiar set of calluses and weatherworn knuckles.
    Had he always been there? Had he been waiting, all this time?
    She traced the fist, its texture - the skin was unyielding to her
    probing, unpliable and broken in spots. It was an unfriendly hand, one
    which did not trust its world. Even her own hand, hardened by
    circumstance and preference, seemed delicate, pleading as it covered the
    extremity in fetal position.
    His fingers were coiled around cloth, but it was not the blanket,
    nor was it the sheets... she checked her neck and, sure enough, her
    keepsake was not there. The flesh seemed raw, though, and she was
    thankful.
    She lay the hand by the young man's side as she extracted from the
    second-hand kiss, and she softly exited the bed on the other side as a
    noise made itself evident from downstairs.
    As the door closed, Ryoga moaned, turning on his side, keeping the
    arm with the hand Ukyo had caressed under, and ended up with his face on
    the bed. He lashed out with his other arm, and it landed in the middle
    of the bed, his hand still gripping Ukyo's half of the ribbon.
    How could he?
    Genma walked barefoot under the midmorning sun, not caring that he
    was on the way to the dojo.
    How could he have been so cruel?
    He could not feel the blistering on his soles, deafened by the
    blustering of his stupid ego. He was defeated by his pride, his stupid
    pride, and now he could never be with her, the one he had loved.
    Of what use was he now? Of what use had he ever been?
    "Oh, Kami-sama," he fell to his knees, "take me now."
    He disappeared in a gust of wind.
    Exactly three minutes and forty-nine seconds later, Nodoka Saotome
    passed by the spot the earth had last noted Genma Saotome.
    "Yes, thank you, I will."
    The man closed the door softly, moaning as his back began cramping.
    Inadvertently, he had the fleeting thoughts of Thai massage to comfort
    him - yet another vice he would have to give up.
    He wasn't really a snoop, but the envelope was not really sealed
    and the ribbon caught his pinkie and - well, okay, so he was curious.
    He took a short time digesting the gist of the note and sat down at
    the kitchen table as he passed by it to mull it all over. There was a
    story here, wasn't there? The girl had to be pregnant or something - why
    else would she be marrying at such a young age...?
    "That's it!" He stood, slamming a fist to the wood, and sped off
    to his room.
    The far door opened, and Sayuri came in, arms full of vegetables.
    "What was that all about?"
    She noticed the note as she set her groceries on the table.
    She leaned back as far as she comfortably could, as though the
    physical distance would aid her mind from properly focussing on the here
    and now. Indeed, her eyes were closed, and she felt flight in her veins.
    Already, she could hear the unearthly silence threatening to fall
    in sheets, broken by the bright rays of laughter, and of song. Peals and
    shimmers followed the cherry blossom petals as they danced along a gay
    breeze.
    "Break the breeze," they cheered, catcalling and jeering like
    children following a dream-being.
    But the breeze, indeed, could not be broken - it shook the
    decorations hung about - it winged its way through the crowd, weaving its
    hypnotic hymn - it lifted a pair of turtle doves celebrating their mating
    quite appropriately - and found itself smothered in the bride's kimono.
    It seemed as though the white butterflies concerted to fly from the
    blue fabric. Ukyo glowed as she wondered, "no one thought this would
    even be possible."
    Ryoga smiled, fangs smoothening his demeanor, "no one thought of
    being happy."
    She stood, the note addressed to "Ukyo Kuonji and Ryoga Hibiki"
    left on the grill, and went back to her bed and to her lover.
    "What a big mess!"
    Kasumi set down the batch of invites on the misplaced end table,
    immediately marking it to be the last piece of furniture to be replaced.
    She made a show of pulling up her sleeves as she turned -
    When Kodachi moaned.
    - and she gaped.
    The trench made its way through the center of the room, where most
    of the bed was. It swerved near the far wall of the room, causing floor
    boards to curl upward, crashed into a new walk-through window, and
    continued along most of the roof before turning one last time, making its
    last architectural modification. In its wake, wood, shingling and
    assorted pieces of clothing were strewn haphazardly.
    That was not what shocked her.
    What made Kasumi gape (and stare and balk and) was the evident
    ménage à trois that was interrupted by the twister. It was clearly
    evident that the way Tsubasa's hand had lain was the cause of Kodachi's
    moan, but it could be because of the way Kuno's face was in his...
    Kasumi did an immediate about-face, left three envelopes on the end
    table and reddily sped away.
    Terse quiet ruled the van.
    "Tranq ready?"
    "Y-yeah." No one complained that that was the fifth time in as
    many minutes.
    Turn... slowly...
    "Eh, what's that?"
    They stared at the pink, peach and dove white spectacle that had
    apparently overrun a household.
    "Sweeto!"
    Happosai merrily followed the chaos caused by the mob. He was
    surprised to find a brown blur rushing from beyond the destroyed doors of
    Kuno's master bedroom (not that it was still recognizable as such).
    "Was that...?" He said no more as he made the error of turning his
    head, thus slamming right into the pillar just beyond the bedroom. The
    water guns in his hands flung obediently followed momentum into the room.
    The doorbell rang again.
    Soun opened the gate and saw one of Akane's friends dragging
    another girl behind her.
    "Um, good m... is Ranma in?" Yuka looked confused.
    "He's still sleeping," Nabiki said. Soun quickly came to the
    conclusion that the girls were there to give Ranma last-minute advice on
    Akane, vis-à-vis Nabiki's invitation. He smiled in approval.
    "Would you girls like to come in for some tea?" he added.
    He did not realize that, with him and Nabiki outside, Nodoka had no
    one keeping an eye on her.
    She slumped, tiredness finally taking its toll. As a final try,
    she rang the doorbell one last time.
    Kasumi dropped the wedding invitation in the mailbox and trudged
    onto the last stop, the stop farthest from this one, leaving the empty
    house to dream by itself.
    Dr. Tofu wanted to step out into the day.
    He had no reason to worry that the materials had been used in some
    sort of mischievous plot to drug key figures in the district, to
    influence and to sway the vanguard athletes of the community into
    distraction - possibly petty argument or even self-destruction.
    After all, who in their right mind...?
    He opened the door.
    "Hello, Dr. Tofu," greeted the Mth volume of "Flora, Fauna and
    What-Not".
    "Hello, and good morning," he said - he didn't have a reason not to
    say it.
    The book fell back to reveal bright brown eyes, set in a smiling
    face. She gave him the book but did not wait for him to leave it behind
    as she tugged at his hand.
    Taking Kasumi's tiny hand in his, they walked hand in hand to
    destiny.
    The doorbell rang again.
    Nabiki opened the gate for the Shinto priest. "I'm sorry, I'm
    early, right?"
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    (Detach here)
    I have always been a science fiction writer. Some of you would
    have noticed all that in the writing of this fic. My collection has been
    filled with the like of Star Trek, and Douglas Adams's Hitchhiker trilogy
    (yes, all five of them) and... well, that's it. Well, a lot of Star Trek
    novels, I guess. From there, I went to comic books, then to manga, then,
    well, it's like I've gone full circle. The first effort I have made was
    science fiction, but it still hasn't seen the length I've gotten here.
    I guess I've always been a fantasy writer, then. I mean, sci-fi is
    a special field of fantasy, right? The first novel I read was the Hobbit
    - man, was that a shocker. After that, well - Good Omens comes to mind.
    There's most of the Pratchett that I've read so far. (So forgive me: I
    still haven't gone through Act I of Discworld II, the game, that is.) I
    mean, I love the feel of a good descriptive epic between my - erhm.
    So I've always been partial to long, drawn storylining, tapestries
    and detailed characterizations which swam above, below and around you,
    swallowing you up in its grand
    But, I digress.
    For all intents and purposes, I have ended my writing of this
    fanfic - the next two parts will have to write themselves out, or they'll
    never come out at all. I thank you who have come down the road with me
    for this, the homestretch of the storyarc. I have been trying to keep
    most everyone in the dark about the eventuality of the story - I mean,
    I've been writing most of the story, as in the dark as you, in the
    details, at least. I mean, I wanted to write something I wanted to enjoy
    reading as well (from a writer's POV).
    But, I'm lying. I've always been a bad liar - there are, after
    all, two more parts in this book to write, plus the second storyarc
    itself (to direct, I had hoped, but apparently I will write it as it
    comes - if it comes...) and still several anecdotes in the third
    compilation. But I have enjoyed writing this story - playing around with
    people's minds has become such an interesting pastime.
    [summary insert]
    Finally, the food fight to start all food fights. When they meant
    pot luck, they did not know what Goddess had been summoned - but don't
    get any wrong ideas, I'm not planning on any crossover soon. Will three
    entrées be enough? The first two will be served in part eleven, rounded
    out with the main course in the last chapter - with dessert in the
    epilogue. Grab a hold of a napkin holder - you'll use them for more than
    just the tips of your mouth.
    (Detach here)
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    


	24. Odds and Ends: Tree


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Odds and Ends: Tree (a divergence) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Plea$e do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by $ome big name people and companie$ I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who $ay$ that I took any of their $tuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny-weeny thanks to whoever else
    even saw this. The roads diverged in a yellow woo. I took some-not-all.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    I would've come here sooner if I knew you were here
    ---------------------------------------------------
    Ryoga looked into Ukyo's eyes and said, "..."
    She blinked. "You... you..."
    The hand flashed, and soon he was airborne. "LECHER!"
    Ukyo stomped off to the other side of the public bathtub.
    Ryoga wondered what all the fuss was about. He just wanted to
    borrow some soap.
    Speaking of the
    ----------------
    "CURSE YOU, RANMA SAOTOME!"
    Ukyo turned to the shout. Ranma Saotome, here in her own junior
    high school graduation trip? She rushed to the cliff.
    "RANMA, NOW YOU WILL - huh?"
    There was no one there. If she had noticed the "Avalanche prone!"
    sign, she might have looked down. She just didn't feel like
    rubbernecking quite then.
    Delicate lotus blossom
    ----------------------
    "Here," the 500-yen coin landed softly onto the ragged young
    beggar's palm. Ukyo walked away smartly, a smile in her mind's eye.
    Ryoga woke up under the shade in the park. "What th-?" He quickly
    pocketed the coin, and picked up his gear, wondering where the forest he
    had slept in had gone.
    A special new beginning
    -----------------------
    The mighty sea bellowed its righteous fury.
    "Take that! And that! AND THAT!" The oversized cooking implement
    waved and wove through the wave with unbelievable maneuverability.
    The tide ebbed, ready for its next charge.
    The heated platter boiled and bristled under the humidity caused by
    the salt breeze. The okonomiyaki was unscathed.
    "Uh..."
    Ukyo turned, "WHAT IS IT? CAN'T YOU SEE THAT I'M A MARTIAL ARTIST
    IN TRAINING HERE?!"
    Ryoga wanted to ask whether or not the okonomiyaki was for sale,
    since he was quite hungry. Unfortunately, the tide came in and swept him
    away.
    Funny things that happened on the way to the train station
    ----------------------------------------------------------
    "Shoot!" the long-haired student bewailed of the weather in
    general. "And me without an umbrella. What's that?"
    To the other side of the deserted platform, a red bamboo umbrella
    made an audible *clunk* as it landed, opened.
    Funny, she thought, I was sure there was someone there...
    Ukyo picked up the umbrella, compensating for the unusual
    weightiness, unable to hear the wails of a piglet who had slipped, mainly
    because the train had arrived.
    One that got away
    -----------------
    Ukyo noticed a scratching at the door.
    Opening it, she saw a peculiarly colored dog, black on one side,
    white on the other.
    "You hungry, girl?"
    The dog shook its head, and zoomed inside.
    "Hey! Not so fast!" But Checkers was much too fast for her.
    Unfortunately, the navigational wonder could not find the stairs,
    and so had to quickly flee the irked okonomiyaki chef's battle spat, and
    her claims of vagrancy.
    In Ukyo's closet in her room on the second floor, thumps and
    screams could be heard.
    Pillar of caterpillars
    ----------------------
    "Where am I now?"
    Ryoga ambled out of the forest only to end up...
    "AIGH!" He lost his balance, but didn't fall into the pond.
    Luckily, there were some stones in the pond he was able to lean on, with
    one arm and one leg.
    Ukyo ran into the fairy pond. She had already figured what she was
    going to do - she was going to use superior speed.
    The hurrying chef didn't notice the lost boy, stepping soundly onto
    the center of his back. He sought to regain his balance by leaning his
    other arm on a nearby stone - but the stone floated away.
    "WHAT THE-?" *sploosh*
    "Huh?" said Ukyo as she cleared the obstacle. She turned back,
    but did not see the submerged martial artist cum porkchop. Setting her
    sights back on the castle in the distance, the sound of easy money guided
    her on.
    Yellow pages
    ------------
    At the reception desk of the Japan-wide "Super Once-in-a-Lifetime
    Mega-Spectacle Tournament of Oddly-Assorted Esoteric Martial-Arts and
    Their Respective Representatives Fighting for Worldwide Recognition", she
    was being interrogated by a bespectacled man in white.
    "Name?"
    "Ukyo Kuonji," and she was proud of it. She was even proud of
    being a female, puffing up her chest at the man's questioning glance.
    He ticked off "definitely female" in the sheet.
    "Martial Arts Discipline?"
    "Martial-Arts Okonomiyaki Preparation, Cooking and Assemblage."
    He nodded, filled out a name tag which said "Feared Martial Artist
    Ukyo, Okonomiyaki-do", gave it to her, then pointed to a group that
    looked mostly to be of dock-workers, fishermen and chefs. "Over there."
    Ukyo ambled off, and the man ticked off the box with "Foodstuffs",
    then turned to the next man.
    "Mortal, shudder under the righteous fury of Koji Fujisawa, master
    of Martial-Arts Slinky CommfF?!" The thinnish man with the colorful
    coils got shunted off to the "Branded Items" bunch (and got into a nasty
    but highly edible fight with the master of SPAM), without anyone
    bothering to explain why his nametag was slapped onto his mouth.
    "Name?"
    The youngish man looked fidgety.
    "Name?"
    The martial artist turned, ability quite obvious from the muscles
    rippling on bare arms against the dark blue shirt. "Uhh... R-Ryog-g-ga.
    R-Ryo-ga H-hib-biki."
    "Ryogga Ryogga Hihibbiki," the man wrote down, ticking "confused
    male" as he passed by it. "Martial Arts Discipline?"
    "W-What?"
    The man didn't even bother to get angry. Patience was not only a
    virtue in his line of work, but a necessity. "What form of martial arts
    do you and your dojo represent?"
    Ryoga looked around, and concluded that this guy was still the only
    guy that he could talk to, without getting into much of a ruckus. Those
    feather-duster dudes looked tough. "M-martial Arrrts R-r-rhythmmmic
    Gymm..."
    "We already have one of those."
    "W-what?"
    "Rules say only one entry per discipline."
    "B-but..."
    "Next!" The burly guy behind Ryoga tried to push him out of the
    way, but the Lost Boy didn't budge.
    "I-I jj-just wanted..."
    "The fame? The glory? The girls?"
    He shook his head frantically. "T-the bbbathroom."
    Speaking of the epilogue
    ------------------------
    "A-CHOO!"
    Ranma wiped at his nose. Funny, he didn't have a cold. He didn't
    give it a second thought.
    Autumn of the cherry blossoms
    -----------------------------
    The mind loves playing tricks.
    I now see him, riding on a steadily shrinking house - my house -
    flicking the falling leaves and petals as they land on his clothes, on
    his cheeks, on his hair. He laughs, beckoning me to come, and I follow -
    but he is soft to my touch, like the windy down of flour, running softly
    through my fingers.
    "Break the breeze," he says, spreading himself into dreamdust and I
    return.
    "The summer," I think aloud, "the summer when the sun cuts wind
    lengthwise."
    "And because of that," a voice interjects, "the sky is threadbare
    with heat."
    I turn my head, but the girth of the cherry tree does not reveal
    the other side. No, I chide myself, now is time to play tricks on my
    mind. "Would you be the spirit of this cherry tree?"
    A laugh, this voice. "No. I always thought that cherry spirits
    were female."
    "Only to males," I correct, leaning back to watch the dancing
    pinks. "The cherry likes to seduce us wandering souls into dancing with
    their fallen sons."
    "Or daughters," he shoots back, then sighs, a willowy note. "It is
    sad that the cherry blossom must shed to be appreciated."
    A petal lays itself on the back of my hand. "It seeks to root
    itself to shine on its own."
    I am certain he shakes his head at this. "But it is the leaving
    that we celebrate, not the landing." He pauses, as though shifting. "Do
    you remember one when he is gone, or as he leaves?"
    The voice is melancholy, as though in reminiscence itself. "Only
    when he is here. His absence shapes the void into the memory."
    "I... miss her." He is suddenly quiet.
    I stop, unsure of my next words, but he cuts the silence. "I miss
    her now, because her absence is the ribbon." He catches himself,
    flounders, and trails off.
    "And the tree connects you to her," I supply.
    "The ribbon is my continuity. My past, and my future. She... she
    broke it."
    I see a face to this voice: rugged, bright, and longhaired. My
    heart jumps, yet it is still. Beggar my mind. "Break the breeze," I
    whisper.
    "What?"
    I close my eyes - I feel the wind and see the young man's face.
    Damn and confound this wishing heart. "He... you... said. Break the
    breeze."
    He pauses, but the moment flows with pent-up emotion. "Do... do
    you..."
    "I am." I hug my legs close; they are numb from the chilling
    wind.
    "May... may I...?" He calms his madly beating heart. "Thank you."
    I feel a sudden movement by me, as though a face to meet mine. I
    open my eyes -
    - I am alone, and the breeze is broken.
    Livin' in luxury
    ----------------
    "Excuse me! Emergency!" The man ran to the door of the public
    car.
    "Hey!" Ukyo shouted, "that's MY cab!"
    "Sorry," Ryoga apologized as he shut the door, and the cab zoomed
    off.
    "Where to?"
    "My house," the Lost Boy said. He did need to get home, surely and
    quickly, no matter how much the cost.
    "And where'd that be, mac?"
    Ryoga looked up, face blank, completely set off-track.
    What goes around comes around
    -----------------------------
    "There ya go, one ticket."
    The train of cars was nowhere near filled. "How long do we have to
    wait here?"
    The barker put his weight to the old-style lever. "Don't worry -
    just one person per car s'nough. Unless you pick-up... something."
    The "Trainwreck Tunnel" was underway.
    "EEEEEEEEEEEEEKKK!"
    "Shut up, Ikuko!"
    "What a crappy 'horror train'."
    "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
    "L-leggo, Ibuki!"
    "H-Hiroshi, s-something's crawling up my leg!"
    "You don't need to shout it out, Yuka."
    "What a weird 'love train'. The gore and surprising costumed
    extras seem to fail to fill the ambience."
    Ukyo wondered why she bothered with the ride. That weird "Gambling
    K" wasn't here either. Maybe next spring fair...
    She felt a tap on her shoulder. "Excuse me..."
    She turned to see a man with an axe in his head asking, "is this
    train headed to Kyoto?"
    "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" *flak!*
    On the bright side, Ryoga actually got halfway there.
    Joshua
    ------
    He felt walking, floor, wood and the smell of wonderment was gone.
    He had left a room of soft-cushioned walls, and was on the way to be
    illuminated, there was a light in a shaft of white. There was some sort
    of blossom show, and a tingling sensation was locking itself onto his
    skin.
    He gazed into the beam to a shadowplay of trees and silk. He saw
    A____, in a kimono, with a bamboo umbrella. She was in a sitting
    position, and was gazing towards an unknown. She turned, so lovely, so
    unassuming and she spoke to him. He couldn't stop himself, walked
    closer, to the tree, and found himself taking a seat not quite opposite
    to N_____. She didn't quite smile, but she did not look into his soul.
    He began to wonder what she was doing in that tree. "What are you doing
    in that tree?"
    "This tree? It's mine."
    "What would you want to do with a tree?" as he began to pummel the
    trunk with all sorts of kicks and punches. The tree was beginning to
    shiver but the occupant was nary impressed.
    "I bought this tree," she began, "because I liked seeing things."
    "Seeing things, huh." He started running circles around the trunk,
    which had a velvety touch. It was a sexy kind of tree, and the shade of
    blue it was hued came out as Ukyo's wraparound, unraveling without its
    bandoleer, under N_____'s calm-world perusal.
    "Give me a hug," said the tree.
    "Give me a kiss," she echoed.
    He stepped on the lowest roots, flowing outward, blanket in a windy
    night, enfolding him as he found handholds in Ukyo's navel, the hollows
    of her shoulders, the crook of her arm, her delicate fingers, as they
    felt him, and he felt them, all of them. N_____ sat in the tresses of
    her light brown hair, with wings of a butterfly, so far to him, so
    taunting, and so tiring to see. He sat down on the branch he was closest
    to.
    Ukyo turned to him and said nothing, the tree was no longer blue,
    but the ground ate away at the color, laying only white and pink, which
    made the tree look soft and hard at once. He felt through the upper
    branches, and they came with him like fragrant willow's wisps, snaking
    not quite around him, tentatively.
    N_____ flew by to kiss his ear, but he heard her say, "you're such
    a pig," not that he could complain, it was all true. But she kissed him,
    dammit, that should mean something to her, it meant something to him.
    Ukyo just shook her head, her hair covering the sky.
    Another brick in the wall
    -------------------------
    "You should'a seen'em!"
    Daisuke shook his head. "Poor fools."
    Ukyo rushed over to the two. "What?"
    "Lunchroom." They bowed their heads in awe and prayers for
    deliverance.
    It was then their pink-haired classmate and his girlfriend
    returned. Or, more precisely, in the arms of the latter.
    The chef asked her co-conspirator. "What's with Shun?"
    Haruka dropped (very softly, but quickly enough to look gruff) the
    aforementioned into his desk-seat. "Got caught in the last meat bread
    with that transfer and Hibiki from A."
    "I feel like a springboard," he muttered.
    Footsteps.
    Ukyo sniffed, not really caring for it all. "Why do they keep
    running out of the good bread, anyway?"
    "My dear, dear U-!" The drummer dropped his horde of pastries as
    he got flung to the back of the room.
    "There goes Wings." Hiroshi just closed his bento box, grinned and
    air-riffed a drumroll.
    50000000 feet of earth
    ----------------------
    "It's no use, sir. There's no way out."
    Under the glare of the heavy-duty flashlight, the archeologist's
    weathered features looked haggard to the point of death. Without much of
    a sigh, he plopped to the ground, sitting cross-legged.
    He closed his eyes, and wondered for deadli- err, time-checks. In
    two hours, they'd have the bends. In about three, the air would run out.
    In five days, the batteries would run out. In ten years, they'd be
    cracked and scarred by heat, without the benefit of a proper decaying.
    "Err... excuse me?"
    "Who're you?!"
    Ryoga wondered why such rugged-looking people were sitting or lying
    down on the dirt, without bothering to pitch their tents. "I... I'm just
    looking for Tokyo..."
    "HOW DID YOU GET HERE?!"
    Ryoga had to shirk away at that, but he wasn't able to avoid the
    fierce hug the man gave him. "BLESS YOU, SON!! YOU'VE SAVED US ALL!"
    Suddenly, Ryoga looked straight up.
    Suddenly, Ukyo looked straight down. She felt a strange blush
    creep, and closed her legs, keeping the fabric on them, all but
    forgetting about the screen before her and the microphone in her hand.
    She never could get used to wearing skirts.
    Tie me up, tie me down
    ----------------------
    After volleyball practice:
    "You know," Haruka began, "I wonder if those handholds of yours...
    are they like, y'know, notches on a warknife? Kills?"
    Peering over her shoulder, Ukyo started pulling off her jogging
    pants, signaling that they were the only ones in the locker room. (Not
    that they'd go in when anyone else was there.) "Yeah, those are for the
    guys I cooked with it."
    "Um-um. Just love the smell of roasted boy." Haruka shook her
    head, laughing inaudibly. "No, really."
    Ukyo put on the pants of her uniform, then regarded the instrument.
    "They're there because those are the balance points on the handle." Her
    gaze, however was focussed on the middle, which was covered by a ribbon
    of cloth. "Points of balance..."
    Haruka immediately noticed the change in mood. "Come again?"
    "You ever have this empty feeling? You know, when things don't
    matter?" She touched the binding at the larger end of the spatula with
    one hand. "There's the things you're happy about," then she slid the
    other hand along the handle, almost choking the bindings nearer the
    notch, "and things you have to be angry about."
    She slid both hands to the middle of the handle, where the cloth
    bindings were. "When things seem to not-matter, I just remember the
    other things."
    "Other things?" Haruka echoed, shuddering inside. This girl's
    gotta have some psychosis or something, turning all deep-voiced about
    cloth.
    So, now that the world is over, do we call God?
    -----------------------------------------------
    "You-part-us!"
    Ex-he turned. Was this ex-she ex-he heard talking to once-him?
    "Um, are you-part-we talking-thinking to me-part-us?"
    Ex-she took once-his arm-extension in once-her arm-extension.
    "Yes, you-part-us, soulmate."
    Ex-he would have started-stuttered-stopped. "Soul's mate?"
    Ex-she nonverbally-assented. "Uh-huh." She curled-folded-mended
    in once-his cusp.
    Ex-he recognized-realized-discovered the familiarity-similarity.
    "Don't I-part-we know-remember-become you-part-us? Aren't you-part-we U-
    ?"
    Ex-she brightened-holied slightly, a smile showing-induced. "You-
    part-we do remember-know!" U- giddily rubbed against ex-him.
    Ex-he ran-rolled ex-his fingers-extensions along U-'s long brown
    hair. It smelled-was incense, but everything-part-us sensed-was incense,
    a fog of it. "Long-brown-hair, you-part-us're my-part-our soul's mate?!"
    Long-brown-hair stuck-out-showed-induced once-her tongue-extension.
    "Of course not, silly P-. It just feels better if your-part-our soulmate
    was someone you-part-us knew-remembered." Ex-she noticed-knew ex-his
    pig-tail droop-sag. "Not angry?"
    Ex-he squealed-grinned. "Not at all." P- covered-embraced U- with
    himself-part-universe and sang-lived.
    "Mmmmm." Long-brown-hair tickled P- with fingers-hair-fragrance-
    extension, and ex-he smiled-glowed.
    "So," P- whispered-caressed, "what do we-part-all do now?"
    Long-brown-hair-horse's-mane: "What else, besides waiting-
    timeless-stop-paused? I-part-us never did believe-know-understand all
    that Hindu stuff. Let's-part-all have wild, passionate chess." And
    they-part-us did.
    He just said, "5 to go."
    ------------------------
    "Gee, just for you?"
    The young man looked past her, then around her. "5 to go."
    "Gotcha covered," she assured him. He must be hungry, lugging that
    big knapsack. Is it just me, or is he making sure that I couldn't see
    his face? "Say, you..."
    "5 to go," he droned, still looking around.
    "Yeah, yeah," she sighed, giving up. Was she being paranoid?
    After three okonomiyaki began to sizzle into completion, she ducked
    in to get some more ingredients. When she came out, he was gone.
    Ryoga stuffed the sign into his pack, wondering for all the while
    why a dojo would be called "Kuonji's Okonomiyaki". And it was on a
    curtain, too! This "dojo destroying" business was too easy, though it
    always left him grumpy. He shrugged, "4 to go."
    Black moon, white sky
    ---------------------
    For all the world, she wanted to be a magical girl.
    "When windward sails the darkness, and homeward streaks the moon,
    the legions, in their slumber, sing mindlessly the tune to which
    fighters, beautiful and true, derive their calls of nature, hear this,
    evil-doers: I FIGHT FOR MACAROONS!"
    She lifted her pencil with a flourish. Not only was it heartfelt,
    and to the point, it was within meter! Now that I have a witty and
    poetic catch-phrase (which I will no doubt keep to heart, uphold and
    remember without having to need cue cards), I have to work on my
    transformation sequence.
    Readying herself, she stood, took a deep breath, and raised the
    half-eaten coconut cookie which was her divine inspiration and chanted:
    "Egg-white, coconut and sugar, mixed and baked to hold,
    spices up everything nicely, much like girls of old.
    Come together in my hand, and sprinkle onto me
    The secret of the MACAROON: POWER OF THE BAKERY!"
    topped with her spinning around, quickly removing her school-girl
    uniform, slapping on a wraparound and (her personal touch) two bandoleers
    of baking instruments.
    Holding up the rolling pin hidden on her back, she bellowed, "I
    will straighten out your crooked stuffing! I AM BAKER MACAROON!
    EEEEEEEEEK!"
    Something made a loud crash outside the window. The world, though,
    could rest at ease, as the secret true identity of its newborn beautiful
    heroine of the fluff, Baker Macaroon, could never escape the lips of its
    co-discoverer, as he could not be found when needed, or, when found,
    could not be prodded to talk, as he was too busy laughing.
    Tie me up, tie me down before
    -----------------------------
    He wondered if it was all a dream.
    Sometimes, he would lie on his stomach, which invariably stopped
    him from sleeping, and thought about her. Or, rather, tried but failed
    to not think about her.
    It wasn't as though she felt like a dream, no, she was very real,
    but it wasn't that, either. It just made him so confused.
    "What could it all mean?"
    At this point, he would invariably flash back to the time they
    first met.
    "Say, you!"
    Ukyo turned to the tinny-little-jerk voice that taunted with its
    very tones. "What is it, kid?"
    If they weren't the only people on the road at that time, she would
    have just ignored him. If she wasn't... as it was, she really had no
    time for this.
    "Look," she started, "I'm really in no mood to - whatever." She
    turned back to her chosen path.
    "Hey!" The other just stood and gawked. "Hey!"
    "SHUT UP!" With an annoyed flick of her wrist, a spatula flung
    back at the stranger.
    "WHOA!" *chok*
    Ukyo really didn't know why she'd done it, but really didn't care.
    "Those two jack-asses!" No, she really didn't know she'd done it. "And
    that stupid ki-"
    She suddenly found herself stopped, because she was rolled up in a
    yellow ribbon. "HEY!"
    She turned to the boy, who was holding a stick, to which the ribbon
    was attached to, thus ascertaining him to be the guilty party. He said,
    "that... wasn't... very... nice."
    She noticed the spatula sticking out of his side. "Eh?"
    He dropped the ball that the spatula had embedded itself into from
    under his arm. "I don't know where I am, but any place people greet each
    other with shuriken is not a place I want to be in." He took the stick
    and fastened it into the wrapped ribbon. "You're gonna take me to a
    phone NOW."
    "Don't wanna." Ukyo just stood there, smoldering. She couldn't
    budge in those coils, and her chest was starting to feel slightly caught.
    "WHADDAYA MEAN 'YOU DON'T WANNA'?!?"
    "YOU TIED ME *UP*, YOU JACK-ASS!"
    "YOU TRIED TO KILL ME!"
    "I DIDN'T MEAN TO!"
    "YOU DIDN'T *MEAN* TO!" Obviously, he thought it would be kind of
    strange. "YOU DIDN'T *MEAN* TO?!"
    "YES!" Ukyo now just felt exasperated.
    They stared at each other. The boy turned, and sat, chin in hand.
    After minutes of deliberation, he stood and faced his captive.
    With a few steps, he was almost nose-to-nose with her.
    "I don't believe you."
    She shrieked in her Righteous Indignation. "WHAT?!"
    "Hey," he shrugged, "you might just try it again."
    Ukyo mumbled on her unbelievable luck. Her father's yattai had
    been hijacked, and now she was being kidnapped by this STUPID KID!
    "So," he concluded, "you're going to take me to a phone."
    She set him locked in her sights, and did a laser-eyed sweep, which
    did not do much damage. Then, something clicked, and she smiled. A very
    *nice* smile.
    "Sure, kid. I'll take you."
    "Are you sure we're getting closer?"
    "Positive," Ukyo said.
    The sun was hanging rather low from a branch, and looked like a
    juicy fruit. She wove through the low-lying branches deftly, while her
    "baggage" had to fend off ticklish leaves.
    Just a few more turns, she guessed.
    After the few turns, they ended up in what would have looked like a
    clearing, except that the tree that stood in the middle of it heavily
    shaded them with its branches.
    She turned to him and stopped.
    "What? We're here?"
    She stared at him intently.
    All of a sudden, she started to spontaneously burst into tears.
    "WE'RE LOST!" she wailed.
    "I could have told you that," he said, sighed and sat on one of the
    largish roots that grew out of the soil in parts.
    "Oh, and how is THAT?" She sniffed, sitting on another root.
    He unhitched his backpack, which Ukyo had noticed looked heavy. "I
    was here."
    She looked incredulous. A random walk into the forest (which
    should have ended up, in the first place, at her father's house) led them
    to a spot he was at before? "You were here?"
    "Uh-huh." He pulled out, much to her surprise, a portable gas
    burner. "Had an interesting conversation with that tree over there." He
    gestured vaguely towards the trunk while pulling out a kettle. "'Hey,
    tree,' I said, 'I'm lost. Think you could help me out?' She says, 'sure
    thing, Ryoga, but on one condition.' 'Name it.' 'Take me with you.'"
    She goggled, as he pulled out a largish canteen. "The tree talked
    to you?"
    "OF COURSE NOT!" He screamed, dropping an unopened cup o'ramen.
    "I am LOST, in the middle of the FOREST, with a NINJA who'd no sooner
    KILL ME than KISS ME!"
    "Who said I was a ninja?!" She bristled slightly, then
    backtracked. "Who said I'd kiss you?!"
    "Of course you'd deny being a ninja." He sniffed, sitting down to
    ignite the burner. "If they (whoever they are) found out that someone
    (whoever it would be) found out that you were a ninja, you'd have to wash
    the toilets for a month or something."
    "WHO SAID I'D KISS YOU?!"
    "No one did. Just making conversation. Besides, why would I want
    a guy to kiss me, huh?" Placing water into the kettle, he started
    heating it.
    "Uh... right." She tried to shrug, but it was a little too
    difficult. "Say... since we're lost and everything, can't you at least
    untie me?"
    He adjusted the flame a little and mulled it over, over it. "Well,
    since you were the one who led us here, and you are the ninja -"
    "I am NOT -"
    "- I do suppose that I should."
    I wonder how that came as a conclusion.
    "But you have to swear not to kill me."
    "But I TOLD you -"
    "On your ninja honor, or something."
    "I am NOT -"
    "- a ninja," he finished. "Yeah, yeah. Swear it."
    She grumbled some. "I swear, on my honor -"
    "On your ninja honor," he corrected.
    "- on my honor," she repeated, more for herself than for him, "that
    I will not kill you." Not unless you try that kissing thing - blech.
    "Oh, goodie," he clapped. Taking the stick, he loosened a small
    amount of ribbon, then suddenly jerked it, pulling the ribbon forcefully.
    Much to Ukyo's surprise, the coils undid themselves, completely recoiling
    back in his hand.
    Opting to cover it, she asked, "so, you got any more of that cup
    ramen?"
    Several mini-meals later, Ukyo had come to the firm conclusion that
    this kid was "not bad", meaning that he would probably not kiss her and,
    kidnapping aside, would probably not have to be killed. It was
    surprising, mostly because of her current stand on boys in general.
    "So," he said, finishing off his third, "what's your name?"
    "Ukyo," she said, slurping a noodle. "And you're Ryoga, right?"
    "Yup." He adjusted the flashlight a little, and sat down from a
    squat. "Forests sure are dark at night."
    She shivered involuntarily (who the heck shivers voluntarily?) as
    she put down the empty cup. "Wh-why'd ya hafta say that?"
    He leaned back, further from the cone of light, so that she
    couldn't see his face. "Nuthin'. Haven't been in a forest this late,
    'sall." He leaned forward, face peeking from the darkness. "Heard a lot
    of scary things that happen in forests."
    "S-SS-Scary?" She edged around the roots, towards the trunk, along
    the edge of the light, inching to his side nervously.
    He didn't notice; he was fiddling with the ribbon, as though
    checking if it was dirtied. "Yeah, like tree-spirits, and earth-spirits,
    and ghosts, and things that go 'BOO!'" He said the last word with a
    lurch, leaning forward all the way with arms outstretched.
    At the mention of tree-spirits, Ukyo suddenly felt the tree loom
    behind her, so that when he said 'BOO!', she was sure that the tree said
    it. So she screamed (a truncated "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" would
    be a good approximation) and jumped squarely into her companion's arms.
    The two landed a good two yards back and started rolling in the
    dark, grassy forest floor, entangling arms, legs and a great deal of
    ribbon.
    When they finally stopped rolling, Ryoga found himself embracing a
    shaking-tense Ukyo. Since he ended on his back, he should have been able
    to remove his arms from their place, except that he was tied in place by
    the coils of cloth. "Hey, hey, man!" He was also quite aware that she
    was hugging him something fierce. "Hey, hey!" He laughed.
    When she didn't budge and didn't laugh either, he began to get a
    tad bit flustered. "Hey, man! No need to get that jumpy. Geez!"
    Ukyo bravely fought fear to say, "I-I'm s-sorry."
    "Hey! Don't sweat it." He laughed again, in vain. "Man, you're
    so jumpy, you're acting like a girl!"
    "I-I, I AM a g-g-girrl."
    Absolute, total silence.
    "Eh-heh," he chuckled unevenly, "good joke."
    "D-do I s-ssound like I'm-mm j-joking?"
    A pause, a little like the last.
    "So what?"
    "What?"
    "So what if you're a girl?"
    "Ah... g-g-good p-ppoint."
    When she woke up, he was gone.
    It was though the whole day before was a queer dream. The whole
    mess of a young martial artist leaving, the yattai gone, that boy, and a
    night sleeping so peacefully... it quickly felt like haze in a young
    mind. The only proof of the events that happened was the ribbon which he
    tied her up with, cut slightly in half, with the stick gone.
    Time and change pass, and though hazy, Ukyo still searches, not
    actively, though, (mind you, she blamed a certain [at the time]
    ponytailed boy for her companion's disappearance) for the boy that held
    her that night, and told her that she could still find worth in the male
    half of the human race (once she could settle with the ponytailed boy),
    the boy who was good with a rhythmic gymnastics ribbon named Ryu.
    The mind loves making things up, ne?
    I wouldn't have come later if I knew you were waiting
    -----------------------------------------------------
    Ryoga looked into Ukyo's eyes and said, "..."
    She blinked. "You... you..."
    The hand flashed, and soon he was airborne. "PERVERT!"
    Ukyo stomped off to the other side of the public bathtub. In a
    way, she'd be glad when puberty came, and she'd have to go to the other
    side of the wall.
    "Hey!" Ryoga wondered what all the fuss was about. He just wanted
    to borrow some... "Whoa, déjà vu..."
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    (Detach here)
    DON'T PANIC.
    This volume scores over the best-selling yet pedestrian work in two
    points, namely, even though much of what is contained is apocryphal or,
    at least, wildly inaccurate.
    Ukyo has once said that she would rather stay as she is rather than
    endanger lives with her stunning beauty. Tatewaki Kuno, noted
    connoisseur and authority, has compared the female Ukyo to the worship of
    two goddesses, but the religion of which is regional and subject to time
    zoning.
    On the other hand, Ryoga is holding a pair of deuces, which would
    have been good except that bad luck in pairs always likes emulating
    Fibonacci's series, consecutive terms of which are always prime,
    relatively.
    When we caught up with the author, on his way in between paroles of
    Nevada and Katmandu, his comments were: "I couldn't remember if I wrote
    that on pot or on Dr. Pepper. Who's Godot? May the Goddess live forth!
    Govinda jaya jaya."
    On totally unrelated developments, a young female has been sighted
    in the Nerima district, searching for her "Master Ryoga". It has not
    been confirmed whether or not the girl has an affinity for being tied to
    posts, but carries Traveler's Checks.
    Also, there actually has been a game called "Strip Fighter",
    although it has only appeared on a now deceased gaming platform, and has
    never appeared on the Sony Playstation.
    (Detach here)
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    


	25. Herbs and Spices: Twenty Questions Unans...


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 20 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny-weeny thanks to whoever else
    even saw this. The seeds of the righteous... never mind. It's Day 3.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Twenty Questions Unanswered
    "I wonder who that was," Nabiki wondered, holding on to the frame
    of the sliding door to the room last occupied by Happosai.
    At that particular instant, her back arched, and her body was
    caught in a paroxysm, her mouth and eyes opening and closing in an arcane
    sequence, her face caught in a rictus of identifiable yet unnamed
    insight.
    She breathed a "wow" and nearly twirled on her toes, had it not
    been for the second doorbell.
    "Mrs. Saotome!" Soun hollered.
    "Dad..." She barely touched the wooden floorings, and no sound was
    evinced.
    "Nodoka!" Soun reiterated.
    "Dad..." Nabiki slipped into her wooden sandals, "the door..."
    Soun was out the door faster than Nabiki's next step, which did not
    say much. He opened the gate and saw one of Akane's friends dragging
    another girl behind her.
    "Um, good m... is Ranma in?" Yuka looked confused.
    "He's still sleeping," Nabiki said, dreamily.
    Soun quickly came to the conclusion that the girls were there to
    give Ranma last-minute advice on Akane, vis-à-vis Nabiki's invitation.
    He smiled in approval, noticing that the Saotome matriarch did not carry
    the lethal blade.
    "Would you girls like to come in for some tea?" he added, slightly
    conspiratorially.
    "Sorry..." Yuka started to say.
    He did not realize that Nodoka could have slipped a ceremonial
    dagger in the folds of her kimono.
    Dr. Tofu Ono walked hand in hand with the woman-child that he
    loved. What he did not know was that she knew that he had loved her, and
    that she had already told him off once. This deviation in their
    knowledge bases might prove to be their undoing.
    Nodoka quickly gave chase, nervously knocking on the doorframe of
    her house as she passed it.
    Not only did she succeed in losing the boy, after almost having him
    killed, she also almost succeeded in getting herself lost. After a few
    moments, she realized that her feet knew exactly where they were headed,
    and she allowed them to take her with them.
    Right, left, left, straight away - the hot summer sun started its
    toil-filled ascent to its apex, beating heavily without convection. The
    river by her side merely burbled, light under the swift and fluid motions
    of its recollection in the sea.
    Soon, her legs gave up their tension, allowing her to make use of
    her knees, as she knew that one more turn would lead her straight to -
    The heavy wooden gate opened slightly.
    "Good morning, Soun."
    Soun's eyes bugged out for about .89 seconds. "G-g-good morning,
    Mrs. Sa-" The pause was not even palpable, noticeable only on the
    tactile level. "- Nodoka," he finished.
    She passed by him in temporizing steps.
    The door of the house was ajar, and she wasted little time with her
    shoes. She heard Nabiki say, "I wonder who that was." The steps were
    taken one at a time, then in bounds of two and three.
    "Mrs. Saotome!" Soun hollered, and was ignored.
    She, instead, heard the sounds of suckling.
    Turning the corner, she opened the door of the second floor
    guestroom, revealing the source of the noise.
    "Nodoka!" Soun reiterated, but it was too late.
    Ranma quickly turned in his position, which just happened to hover
    over the position of Akane, who was slightly obscured at that point.
    To the eyes of Nodoka Saotome, the sixteen-year-old who was sitting
    up in the futon had, first, the face of a bespectacled child of age six,
    then a pigtailed child of age six, finally filling out with age, and
    contorting into the gravest form of terror.
    Nodoka Saotome, mother of one, could not identify the child she had
    raised for six years and lost for ten more, but fell to the ground,
    embracing the man-child who still had milk on his lips.
    In the Bedroom of the grandiose and verdant Kuno estate, three
    figures lay in bed, in quite a precarious and censurable position. Point
    in fact, this spacious and majestic chamber now included much of the roof
    and the garden.
    Tsubasa groggily woke up, shaking his head. To reorient himself,
    he turned a sleepy eye to his right. Sure enough, his ladylove lay
    there, mumbling sweet nothings in the afterglow. He smiled, kissed her
    forehead, and lay back down.
    He made small comforting noises, and nuzzled her tuft of curly
    hair. Then he noticed a similar mumbling to his back.
    To his surprise, another Kodachi was there, similarly basking in
    the late morning ambience.
    With much of a shrug, he opened his arms wide to receive them both.
    Shampoo snapped closed the shower and dried herself off with a
    thick yellow towel.
    Although she wasn't quite above admiring herself, the look she gave
    the mirror wasn't one that harbored any like for self. She had quite an
    annoyed look at the way her breasts bobbed pertly, bravely jutting above
    layers of honed muscle and stiff bone. Her hips skewed in posture and
    she could not care less whether or not she would look this way in a few
    years.
    How could she have been so selfish? The ugliness shown upon her
    features, contorting it into withered caricature of herself, shrunken and
    shriveled in spirit.
    Wearing a pink cheongsam, she took her bonbori from the closet and
    met with her Elder to deliberate a counterattack.
    Yuka gently placed her lover in the futon, and adjusted the ice
    pack on his forehead.
    She marveled at the hospitality of the Tendos, how they immediately
    admitted her and Daisuke after bowing out to the invitation to tea.
    "Sorry," she had said, "my friend collapsed, and I -"
    "Say no more, young lady," Soun said, ushering them into this room.
    The room itself looked to be quite large, almost having the air of
    a master bedroom.
    Not having visited the Tendo household in the recent past (mostly
    due to the insistence of Akane herself), Yuka easily mistook the room for
    what it once was: indeed, the master bedroom of the household. In
    reality, it was now a guestroom and, in a way, the master's bedroom.
    Nothing was left of the mayhem from early on in the morning, aside
    from a hole in the ceiling, which was skewed and, with its angle, did not
    let light in.
    "'suke," she murmured, not wishing to call him, only to refer to
    him.
    At her voice, the other female roused, if slowly. "Mmm...?"
    "What happened?" she wanted to ask, but she knew three things that
    had happened, which would only be the answers her boyfriend would
    provide: one, that he was cursed in apparently the same way that Ranma
    was; two, that he had no idea who and why this was done; three, that
    the water they were splashed with was the key.
    Yuka had heard from Akane that Ranma's "curse" wasn't one caused by
    evil spell-casters or any of that medieval-sounding nonsense.
    Apparently, there was this place in China, where Shampoo was from, that
    had natural springs (?)...
    "Umm, Yuka..."
    She did not turn.
    She was fascinated by the lilting tone in Daisuke's voice, a
    natural pitch aided by a wholeness of tone that quickly distinguished his
    new voice from any other voice she had ever known - yet identified itself
    completely with Daisuke himself. There was his sincerity, his
    seriousness, his playfulness... and a heretofore-unknown aspect of him,
    one of mild, yet self-aware fear.
    And pain - clear, dissonant pain. Quite clearly, one highly-
    evidenced fact resounded in the painful bass of his vocal symphony:
    There was no cure.
    In an instant, Yuka knew exactly what the problem was between Ranma
    and Akane. She saw the schism in all its facets, the denial of
    commitment, the shadowplay and the hesitation. She realized exactly why
    Akane took so long in realizing her emotions towards the pigtailed
    martial artist.
    Knowing all this, she still did not know how it could be rectified.
    And, when all was said and done, Ranma Saotome had failed.
    He had failed his mother, who had expected him to be a man among
    men, and found him skulking in the Tendo household, with one of the Tendo
    daughters, to boot.
    He had failed his father, who chose to stick him with a contract to
    his mother, a contract with the Tendos, a contract with his oldest
    friend, and a contract to the (Founding) Anything-Goes School of Martial
    Arts. With all these commitments, added to some he had inadvertently
    placed himself under, he broke one, just one, under the strain. He only
    had the satisfaction of knowing that his father would not be able to
    escape the consequences.
    He would now fail each and every bond he had made.
    Most of all, he would fail Akane Tendo, as the one and only chance
    for their consummation would be interrupted by the event of his undoing.
    The woman cannot be denied.
    "No! He's MINE!"
    Nodoka was hurled violently to a scrambled sitting position by
    Soun's youngest daughter. She saw Akane sit up, forcing Ranma into a
    similar posture, protectively clutching at the bare and lightly bruised
    chest of the young man, while keeping her own obscured (albeit
    coincidentally). "YOU CAN'T HAVE HIM! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HIM!!"
    "Ah... Akane?"
    Akane was beyond reproach, beyond care. She held his naked torso
    with greedy and relentless possessiveness. "HE'S MY MAN AMONG MEN! HE'S
    THE ONE THAT I CHOOSE!"
    "Akane?!" Ranma turned, sore and shocked at her boldness and her
    volume.
    Nodoka was transfixed, more at the intensity of Akane than anything
    else.
    "AUNTIE, IF YOU CAN'T ACCEPT HIM AS YOUR SON, THEN LET ME HAVE HIM
    AS MY HUSBAND!"
    Then, the gist of her words began to seep. "Man... among men?"
    "IF YOU KILL HIM, YOU'LL HAVE TO KILL ME!" With that, she yanked
    Ranma's pigtail from one side, "erk!" meeting Ranma's floundering lips
    in her own.
    Akane closed her eyes, waiting for the perfect death.
    Ranma closed his eyes, counting slowly...
    Nodoka's eyes did not blink. "My... son...?" She began to pale,
    realizing a ghost.
    Tatewaki Kuno had a dream.
    It went quite this way:
    He called his father to open the door
    and two girls came in. He could not
    recognize either one, but thought that
    he one of them was really a guy (?). The
    went father (who was not his father) asked if
    upstairs the girls would come in, there was some
    because sort of ceremony, and they were guests.
    there was Something like his sister getting married.
    this noise... It was probably a good thing. Anyways,
    Then he woke up, in a cold sweat. "Mother..."
    "What was that?"
    The doorbell rang yet again. Nabiki started to feel the pull of
    gravity, but a buzzing persisted. Quickly down the steps and out the
    door once more...
    Nabiki opened the gate for the Shinto priest. "I'm sorry, I'm
    early, right?"
    "I remember you..." she started.
    "Funny... haven't I told you who I am before?"
    "You have..." Nabiki assured him.
    "I was told that there was supposed to be a 'celebratory luncheon'
    in the 'traditional Anything-Goes Martial Arts fashion'."
    "That there is," she said, taking an elbow, then turning to close
    the gate. "Right this way..."
    "Nabiki...?" The gate nearly muffled the sound completely.
    A heartbeat
    "Where are you going, my love?"
    The female turned to Tsubasa, haughtily looking over
    a svelte shoulder. "I have no wish to spend my morning in
    bed with you. You may, however, do with my vile sister as
    you please." With that, Kuno bade his leave.
    and another
    He couldn't understand it - he felt smaller.
    He brought the jacket of his kimono tighter around
    him, not quite aware that not only the cloth was loose. He
    trod down the street, gracefully and steadily enough not to
    trip.
    There was something wrong, he knew, and only one
    person was smart enough to help solve his problem, had been
    of any help to him through this time.
    He turned in time to see the gate nearly close.
    and a skip.
    "Kuno," she spun in place, "baby," the priest fell by the wayside.
    "Nabiki," he said, calling her for the first time with his mouth.
    "I need..." Then he saw the look on her face.
    Tsubasa noticed a draft by one wing. "Where are you going, my
    love?"
    He didn't quite catch what Kuno had said, beyond "... in bed with
    you, with my sister, please." Kuno, for his part, did not notice the
    realistic effects the transvestite used in his costume.
    Sister? Tsubasa grinned giddily, pulling off the sheets that had
    draped over his body, thinking kinky thoughts in stereo. Happiness, his
    mind supplied, always comes in pairs. He returned his attentions to the
    other Kuno, rousing from the dousing finally. "And you, my l-?"
    Kodachi easily swatted the other girl, who happened to be in bed
    with her, happened to be wearing just shorts and paint, happened to have
    limbs embracing her. She rubbed her hands, thoroughly disgusted by the
    fact that she herself was covered with paint. "Ugh. I would not allow
    myself to be desecrated by a person of obviously low standing and
    objectionable moral character."
    She spared the erstwhile bodypainting partner and conceded a small
    amount of admiration of her features and attributes, mostly because they
    were so blatantly displayed.
    She was barely out the door when she was accosted yet again.
    "Need...?" Nabiki caressed the "n" sound with much rolling of the
    tongue. "You... need... me...?"
    "Um... yes..." Kuno felt two things: one, awkward, having to talk
    to Nabiki Tendo (Nabiki! Master of Double-talk!) as though she was the
    one having trouble catching up; two, a ringing, coming from, strangely,
    the front of his mind. It made him extremely self-conscious, more so
    with his clothes a gender too large.
    Because of this imbalance, he used his other hand, the first
    holding the front of his trousers, to lean on the gate, pushing it
    inward.
    Nabiki eyed his hand, much too intently. "So... nice... of you,
    to... drop in..." In an instant, she grabbed -
    - for the gate, as Kuno slid his grip two hands' breadths up.
    A heartbeat. "Would you... like, to... come... in...?"
    They locked glances.
    Kuno knew of the battle of wits Nabiki had drawn him into, with
    those shimmering pools of soul, yearning, reaching... and he won, hands
    down. Still, he let her have her way: "Certainly."
    He pushed his weight forward, not losing contact with Nabiki's
    glance, a step, another. The middle (now eldest) Tendo lightly pushed
    the gate securely closed and maneuvered her way to the side of her ward.
    He saw her movement, her tactics, blocking the path with her radius
    of... imbalance. He knew she and her aura were, innately, non-lethal,
    but that was all he could gather. More out of curiosity than out of
    fear, he allowed himself to be fielded along the left side of the Tendo
    household.
    She smiled.
    He turned in time to avoid smashing blindly into a tree.
    At once, she took her opening.
    Nabiki lunged, extending her arms at Kuno - *BLAG!*
    Kuno opened his eyes. He was trapped between a largish tree and a
    strange Nabiki, with both of the latter's arms blocking his sides, all of
    her a breath's width in tentative margin. He knew/felt/reasoned that
    they held much power, much force - but nothing he could not overcome.
    She Saw him, looked at him with the most intensity he had seen from
    her eyes, gauging him in his new form. She put obvious effort to
    stilling her breathing to a calm, collected state. She leaned forward,
    her warmth and aura sending waves of clustering quiver, soothing and
    exciting the new anatomy, confusing him with its queer tricks and clever
    rhythms. With one deep, sharp intake of breath, the quick-witted tease,
    the mysterious classmate, the arrogant crow, the jealous sister, the
    informant, the tutor, the siren, the woman, took of him as she pleased.
    He saw the hairs of her neck rise, the flush in her cheeks, the
    prick of her ears, the glaze in her eyes. It was then the wind cut along
    their proximity, their distance, ringing like the run of steel, blood
    singing, rejoicing - it was the warrior's wind, the wind of war, the wind
    of ages - it was the wind of love, unbridled, passionate, pregnant and
    life-giving - forever in chorus, forever in contest, forever in rapture.
    Nabiki Tendo smiled into the ever-changing passage of man's
    history, smiled to the face of her one, true love - the only man to best
    her in all the aspects of her being.
    "Kiss me."
    She breathed, "you're dead."
    "If you want to stop now, you just need to say so."
    She stopped in her tracks, a small difference really from the
    snail's pace, and stood there, head bowed, as though waiting for a blade
    to sever it from her body, waiting for the ultimate release.
    Her companion grew steadily angrier. "If you even begin to let up,
    I will see to it that it is my face and my cane that you see last. Mark
    my words, Shampoo."
    Shampoo stood her ground, taking a shoulder's breadth stance, fists
    to sides, finally beginning to shake. But what of her aura? There
    wasn't any. What could she have done, fought her mentor and sponsor in
    what would be a fight to the death? Begged, pled, argued law and writ
    with one who had been interpreter - indeed, creator, in parts - of the
    written law?
    "On my sword, Elder, on my mother's soul," she recited from rote.
    Cologne nodded sagely. Shampoo's loyalty to the tribe was never in
    doubt - it would be her loyalty to her oldest friend in question. Worse
    yet, it would have to pit her love to the one man to best her in combat,
    the one man who had stolen her heart without meaning to, against her love
    to the man who had tried so many times, only to fail in each.
    They trod onward, a somber procession, to the appointed place.
    A bright yellow blur made good headway.
    Soun Tendo wanted to save the world.
    Actually, it was more of the world he knew, which composed mostly
    of his house, his dojo and his children. But how could one be a hero
    without starting from the local circles?
    So, like a good martial artist, a dutiful father, and a panicked
    chicken, he scrambled up on the roof of the first floor, to clandestinely
    peek upon the sleeping (he thought) son of his best friend Saotome,
    before he would have to turn them away like a pox.
    Luckily, the window of the guestroom was open.
    Unluckily, the young Saotome was not, in fact, sleeping.
    "Oh my," Soun mouthed.
    Luckily, Akane was at hand.
    Unluckily, Akane was, in fact, in Ranma's hands.
    More of the reverse, really.
    Unluckily, Nodoka was right there.
    Unluckily, Ranma was male at the time.
    Unluckily, he had his back exposed toward her.
    "You're dead," she breathed, slowly getting up from her seat. She
    took the first hostile step to him, shaky in its intent and -
    The wind changed direction.
    Soun...
    Huh?
    Soun... do you...
    K-K-Kimi... Kimi-chan? remember... love...?
    He turned, turned, saw nothing in the smallest amount of time -
    then, he saw her lips move.
    Nodoka seemed to say, "it's time, my love..."
    No... But Soun knew, knew that the words of past written were, once
    again, coming true...
    The famous mountain will erupt, and the ogre (sic)
    Will disappear apparent, but he will come again
    295 And a new heir will arise, from the Tendo line
    Born of the ogre's intervention - the eldest will
    Be youngest, and flaming women's heads will mark
    Those whose blood stems from heaven to heaven and.
    Marriage upon marriage broken, forgotten child
    300 Will find solace in truth, in name and in pride.
    ... as they did, foretelling even her death.
    "Is it... my turn?"
    She shook her head, slowly, deliberately, eyes still wide with
    phantasmal awareness. She spoke with her eyes, brown to the edge of
    fudge blackness, so much like Nodoka's eyes, in a voice much like
    Nabiki's, "kiss me."
    He needed no more prodding.
    "Umm... excuse me? Might I trouble you for some tea?"
    Yuka turned, slightly bleary, to the priest. "I'm sorry, we don't
    really live here."
    "Oh." The door slid to a close.
    Phooey! It isn't just paint!
    Oh, well, he sighed; the much-disputed Master of Anything-Goes
    Martial Arts may have had very discerning fingers, but they, and he, knew
    a good thing (or two equally, symmetrically superb things) when they felt
    it up.
    Kodachi, the unwarranted object of discernment, was undergoing her
    own epiphany, one which rushed headlong into a very solid wall of
    willpower and self-preservation. The rising smirk of piqued lust was
    stomped and smothered by disgusted fury, making for one of the queerest-
    looking half-lopsided grins that even Kodachi had ever contorted using
    her features. The dark spots covering her eyes did some sort of blending
    with the red tinges at the tops of her cheeks, and her tongue stuck out
    from an openly gaping mouth. What made it worse was that it changed
    sides, then turned itself inside out, emotions pacing each other like
    hungry predators around the landmark of her nose, forcing her to shake
    her head and shoulders wildly, half in ecstasy, half in irritation.
    Her arms bent upward, spearing outward, as though looking for
    pillars to shove, hoping to cause some architectural damage, mostly on
    herself. Shakily, in sudden, jerky movements, the hands spasmed as they
    touched wrinkled flesh all over the old lecher's forehead. "D-D-Duh-Doo-
    DON'T!" She viciously pulled his head back - then unclenched her fist,
    pushing his head right back into its favored position. "Do!"
    "Eh?" Happosai was not quite sure that he had, in fact, landed
    back in the gymnast's cleavage - without him doing anything.
    The chemical warfare began.
    "Why would I do that?"
    She smiled - it wasn't a smile that boded argument, or victory
    thereof. "Because you yourself are interested - curious, lustful,
    attracted or merely gracious. Some part of you wants to feel my lips sit
    upon yours, pressing the body of my warmth onto your sleeping form,
    conquering your seat of power and spreading through your being, making
    you helpless and embraced. You want to share yourself with someone else,
    hold someone who will let you, rub against something soft that touches
    back, be swallowed by the beckoning unknown. Who knows... you might want
    to make me happy...?" A languid sigh filled her features and she leaned
    ever closer. "You won't be disappointed."
    Her voice was hot, burning - he felt like buckling, leaning into
    the tree, but something she was doing (pressing) to his chest was making
    ovations with the hairs on his nape. "What makes you sure?"
    Nabiki slipped her left hand along the trees at the back of his
    neck, making its trail to his skullcap. Each of her words were like warm
    feathers in his ears: "because you didn't say no."
    With that, she planted her mouth onto his - a heartbeat later, her
    right hand moved.
    "You're dead... you're dead... YOU'RE D-!"
    He forgot to breathe.
    Yuka opened the door to let some air in, then caught a glance of
    Nabiki pushing someone to a tree with her face. Then she noticed that
    this someone looked just like that gymnastics loony who was chasing after
    Ranma.
    That loony was, she remembered, a girl. Kodachi...
    She slid the door closed just as Nabiki drew her hand from the
    bush.
    "Miss Hinako!"
    A full hundred yards away, the English teacher/disciplinarian
    stopped in her tracks. She turned, and squinted back. "Yes? Who is
    it?"
    Out of the crowd milling about, held back by the arch of the
    shopping center, Sayuri came into view. "Miss Hinako, are you on the way
    to the Tendos?"
    Hinako eyed the student's outfit critically: it was a simple off-
    white off-shoulder dress, with thin straps at her arms and a wispy black
    belt, and a skirt that stopped right under her knees, capped by thick-
    heeled shoes. She had her hair up and wore a thin layer of make-up. She
    nodded appreciatively, walking over to her. "What's that, Miss Yamada?"
    She hefted the wrapped package in both hands. "Oh, this?"
    "What's in it? What's in it?" the teacher really wanted to know.
    She told her in about fifteen words or so.
    "Really?" Hinako hid her blush. Sayuri was surprised that she
    hadn't gone on one of her "delinquent" rampages.
    They went on their way.
    *ring*
    *klik* "Hel-?"
    "'ey, 'suke! Did you get the invite from -?"
    "I'm sorry, but he's not in right now. This is Hiroshi, right?"
    "Mrs. M! Is he already gone to the wedding?"
    "Can't say, really, he left before the invite came. Say, Hiroshi -
    ?"
    "Thanks anyway, Mrs. M!" *klik*
    "- do you know someone named... drat." *klik*
    The gate opened. "Would you wait in the family room while I-?"
    She stopped in her tracks - only for a half-instant. In the other
    half, she did an about face, pushed out the gate, saying, "but you
    haven't seen the back yet, have you?", closing it behind her.
    There is a reason, Kasumi.
    "How DARE you!"
    As soon as she saw the ancient martial artist get punted into way
    past the other endzone, she realized that the more familiar emotions were
    much easier to use.
    She squared off the other girl with a feral snarl, hissed, made a
    claw, scratching sounds, then sped off after Happosai.
    Tsubasa had no option but to follow - he just chose to run on just
    two feet.
    Ironic, Mousse thought, that he would leave a place he did nothing
    but clean sinks to find himself scrubbing away in someone else's kitchen.
    Mistakes have happened often in Soun's life. The only problem that
    he has had is that he actually has a list of them - one someone else has
    penned for him.
    He should have been happier - this was the last mistake, the last
    written, known mistake logged and noted from Soun Tendo. He had read
    through the rest of it - and he wanted no part of it.
    Unfortunately, there was this.
    "Mmmm..."
    "MMMMMMMMMPPPHH!"
    The magic was most definitely gone - whatever enchantment had been
    woven by the moment, disguising his most dangerous guest (and with Ranma
    and Genma and the trouble they brought, this was no small matter) into
    his dear departed wife, was dispelled, brought about by the murderous
    look in Nodoka's eyes.
    She, on the other hand, was mostly irritated by the mustache. Too
    much input was coming in, but the mustache was the clearest irritating
    element. Even the way that he had grabbed her, rolled with her, was not
    as bad. The kiss wasn't - NO! She immediately reached for the blade on
    her back to wave in a menacing manner - and got a pillow.
    She disengaged, yelled unintelligibly, surprising the other
    kissers, then very, very quickly swiped at her host's head.
    Unfortunately, he heard *the knock* and was even quicker in
    resolving that than in noticing the threat.
    The pillow flew.
    Rightly so, Shampoo and Cologne waited by the front gate, only
    having to wait the standard two-two-nine seconds.
    


	26. Herbs and Spices: The Jack of Spades is ...


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 21 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny-weeny thanks to whoever else
    even saw this. The seeds of the righteous... are getting sown. Day 3.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    The Jack of Spades is Wild!
    Tofu retracted the fist from the hard wood of the gate at the back
    entrance. He turned to Kasumi, who had been interested in the sign that
    had been covered by bushes.
    "Dojo Challenger's Entran-" she read, stopping suddenly. With
    wide-open eyes, she turned to Tofu.
    He held the frames of his glasses in one hand, the other only
    stopping to shake - the lenses glinted in the near-noon sun, and he gave
    her a strangely brave smile.
    He knew.
    The doors slowly moved outward, shivering, then stopped. Moments
    later, the right door began to move by itself, a slow ritual.
    Tofu turned back to the front, watching Soun push it straight out,
    then stolidly stepped to the other door.
    They shared a grin, Tofu coming out of the one with Kasumi. Each
    knew their position, but each knew, traded, their own reasons. They were
    not too vague for either, and Soun needed only to nod slightly in his
    daughter's direction to make entirely sure.
    Her hand, and her father's training hall.
    Soun nodded, pushing the other door outward, then turned to the
    dojo doors.
    Doors opening and closing - those were the only sounds that
    occupied Shampoo. People milling about their own business, not caring
    that the door they close might never be opened ever again, nor those
    opened never to close.
    She was never wont to introspect, as actions tended to speak for
    themselves, but the last ten minutes were grueling, mentally. She wanted
    to run away - she wanted to break into a sprint - she wanted to sit down
    and mope. She was never wont to mope, either.
    She had never been open to discussing or mulling her emotions -
    yes, they were - toward Mousse. He was, after all, the most annoying man
    - openly affectionate, but blaringly insulting. She knew how he felt -
    and knew that she was never going to take him up on it. She thought she
    had already made that clear.
    Yet the man was the most reliable ally. She tended to think that
    he was the most reliable tool, but he had still prove to be useful beyond
    the menial tasking he did. Cologne had made sure that he would be a
    worthy Amazon male, strong and obedient. She had also said that it would
    be eternally educational for both Shampoo and Mousse to be in their
    situations.
    "Halt," the elder stated, her stick already stopped its own
    metronomic swaying. She could hear the elder tap the doorbell.
    "You have no need to keep carrying that."
    She shrugged. "Might be stolen, Great-granma. Very many important
    Amazon secret."
    Cologne quickly picked up her slipping into Japanese - she did that
    mostly to obscure her plain thoughts, not that they could be hidden very
    well from the ancient's ears - and the fact that it did little to mask
    her sarcasm. "Great-granddaughter, put down the basket."
    "Why, Father?" Nonetheless, the streamers in their cradle touched
    ground.
    Soun didn't take his eyes off of the doctor - standard, of course.
    Unfortunately, many things are required in the standard. "Someone...
    should stay to moderate."
    Kasumi pouted. "But that's why I was going -"
    "Someone," Soun stressed, without intensity change, "must stay and
    watch." Officiate, mediate and validate, he didn't bother to add.
    "- to get Nabiki," Kasumi finished. She turned to Tofu, who was
    not looking (standard). "Nabiki is the one who does this, always does."
    "Stay," he said. Then he turned, and gave her a smile. "Please."
    She frowned as he turned in place. Grumpily, she moved to a spot
    equidistant to both men and raised an arm straight. "Begin!"
    The hand flashed down.
    "Oh my gosh, the wedding!"
    Ranma found - too late - that Akane was trying to dress them both
    up, while he tried to keep the sheets on them. He lightly kicked himself
    off, while Akane started buttoning up the blouse of her pajamas.
    "I think Kasumi keeps the kimonos in her room..." she said, pulling
    herself and a clearly bedraggled Saotome out of the room.
    Nodoka barely noticed them as she heard the branches of the nearby
    tree shake.
    The rustling did not make either flinch.
    Dr. Tofu stood his stance passively. "Your move." His glasses
    glinted flatly.
    Kasumi glanced at a watch she had bought this morning - she should
    already be preparing lunch for the guests. She hoped this wouldn't take
    too l-
    She barely missed getting poked in the nose.
    "Sorry about that." Tofu bounded up on the balls of his feet,
    while Soun was obviously wobbling, apparently stiff in one hip. The
    latter shifted to a back stance, bending on one knee, the other leg
    limply sticking out in front of him.
    "Pressure point techniques," Soun said, not at all as pained as he
    should have been - he even seemed appreciative. The chiropractor and
    moxibustionist simply stood straight, checking the circulation of his
    left ankle.
    Soun repeated the mistake he had just paid for - he again took the
    role of aggressor. He hopped forward, to just in front of the younger
    man, and started to turn around, indicating that he was going to swing
    the deadweight leg to again sweep Tofu. This time, though, Tofu hopped
    backward, then was moving in to take out the other leg -
    - when Soun suddenly came upon him from above, the numb appendage
    leading. Tofu fell face first to the ground, while Soun stood on a hand.
    "Limp Monkey technique," the latter said, pushing off to land in
    the same back stance.
    The former man re-affixed his glasses, then changed to a more
    traditional forward stance.
    Then he made the mistake of checking to see how Kasumi was.
    "Kasumi!" Akane bellowed, as she stomped around the second floor,
    then down the stairs, followed somewhat consistently by a heavy clunking.
    "Are you he- Yuka! What are you doing here?"
    Yuka had been closing the far door when she heard Akane's voice.
    She gratefully turned her back on the disturbing scene outside - when the
    scene before her was no real improvement.
    Akane stepped in the guestroom, wearing a pajama top, her belly
    button poking out, and her lower body covered by a roughly placed
    blanket, which she had first assumed to be held by Akane, but with the
    bride-to-be coming closer, she noticed that Akane was only holding the
    hand that was keeping the blanket in place. That hand was Ranma's - the
    rest of him, though, was being dragged through the doorway by Akane, as
    though he was a life-sized ragdoll.
    "Ow" was all Ranma could say, as he pushed himself up from the
    floor while Akane had stood there, getting a better, but still soft, grip
    of Akane's waist.
    Yuka's eyes almost bugged out when she put two and two together
    from the couple's state of undress and discomfiture, punctuated by
    Ranma's hands (and his subsequent non-getting-beat-up) and the fact that
    the boy was only wearing his boxers.
    Ranma noted Yuka's glance, then moaned, "oh, geez," placing himself
    behind Akane.
    Akane noted Yuka's glance - then the heat began.
    "What..." Akane began, taking a menacing step toward her friend,
    "do... YOU...?" another step, then - *squish*. "Hello?"
    The two new entrants noticed the fourth in the room, whose stomach
    had been on Akane's path. "Who are you?" Akane said, peering down into
    his face.
    "That's why I'm here, Akane, Ranma. Y'see -"
    Kasumi knew it was one big misunderstanding. It was surprising
    that two grown men who didn't know what they were doing were doing it so
    well. She, instead, played the role of mediator, not intercessor, and it
    was not a position she was unused to.
    She, instead, focussed on the unseen energies in play. It was very
    evident that the doctor, bless his heart, was fighting for her hand in
    marriage. The question was her father, who fought with some of the old
    power that he had kept through the years, even when she last remembered
    him fight with -
    A distinctly male scream slashed through from the house.
    Nodoka sat up, turning to the window. "What was that?"
    Mousse looked up in the kitchen. "Who was that?"
    The Shinto priest simply held the mug of tea, and arched a brow.
    "You... BIG... baby..."
    With each word, Nabiki traced a finger along Tatewaki Kuno's
    jawline, leading drops of still hot water to his chin, threatening to
    drop onto either of their chests. Trailing off, Nabiki then traced the
    still agape lips, as though teasing him to scream once more.
    Kuno's eyes were glazed over, then lost the lost luster, refocusing
    on the female on top of him.
    His words, though whispered, were clear to his companion's eyes, as
    she paid rapt attention to the interaction of fingertips and lips.
    "Ranma... Ranma's... red hair..."
    "I'm going out for a while, mom..."
    She stopped chopping carrots and looked at her son's peeking head
    in the doorway. "Got a date?"
    "Errrrrr... sorta," he relented, slightly surprised that he had
    said so.
    She looked at the watch: if he was going to have a lunch date, he
    only had just less than twenty minutes to make a good impression. "Have
    fun!" She winked.
    "Errrr... thanks, mom."
    They stared at each other.
    "What're you waiting for, Hikaru-chan?"
    "Errrrrr... right." After fidgeting a little, he turned away.
    A few moments later, when he was sure she wasn't looking, he passed
    the open doorway, two lines of pools trailing along his sides being his
    primary worry.
    "Phooey!" Happosai crossed his arms across his chest, then
    shrugged. He checked his ammunition - and gave himself a palm to the
    forehead. Much as he felt it was deserved, he shouldn't have used a
    whole thermos bottle on that couple on the bench.
    Now he was out of reserves.
    "Not to worry, my soon-to-be beauties," he said, pulling out his
    last two full water guns, and squirted outward for effect. Then he
    slapped his forehead again.
    Nabiki pulled back, aghast.
    "You... you...," a hand flew to her mouth, but so languidly that it
    seemed to be rushing through jelly, "... you *know*...," the disgust and
    the disbelief glowed in her eyes, "... and... you *still*... chase..."
    She turned from him, wiping at her face, disinterested in his petty
    explanations, and the doorbell rang, drowning his whispers screaming in
    her ears.
    "STOP IT!"
    Both men had already stopped, so they just turned their heads to
    the young lady.
    "I declare this fight stupid!" Kasumi's grimace of displeasure
    looked like a pretty pout but surely felt out of place and very much
    arresting. "And you both are going to behave or else you will get NO
    LUNCH!"
    With that, she stormed out of the dojo.
    "I... didn't know..."
    Tatewaki Kuno slid bonelessly to the ground.
    Yuka knew that the scream came from the window, knew that there
    were two women there, one being her good friend's middle sister, the
    other the loony from an episode in the past, and knew she wanted no part
    of it.
    "What was that?" Ranma asked.
    "Believe me," she started, then turned as she felt heat from quite
    close by, "you don't want to know."
    "But who are you?" Akane was already poking the female that she
    was still stepping on.
    "Can... you... please... get off?"
    "Oh, sorry," Akane said, complying.
    While she was doing this, Yuka quickly signaled for Ranma to leave
    the room and to get some decent clothing. Surprisingly, he got it on the
    first try.
    "Welcome to the Tendo-Saotome wedding," Nabiki said smoothly,
    "guests and non-combatants please retire to the receiving room for
    debriefing." She didn't wait for an answer and closed the gate.
    Cologne stared. "Very interesting."
    Shampoo shrugged. "Guess Shampoo go in old way."
    "Well," he said.
    "Well," he said, in response.
    He eased up, just slightly, still limping. "I guess..."
    "... she's right," he concluded, also straightening, now trying to
    put weight on his ankle.
    "So," Dr. Tofu concluded, "what's for lunch, Soun?"
    "Cake," he answered, beckoning him over to lean on while moving.
    Mousse shuddered slightly from the noise, but became very, very
    still.
    *BOOM!*
    Sayuri and Miss Hinako were right beside the former's house, which
    was barely a block away from the dojo, when the explosion, with matching
    cloud-of-dust came from the vicinity.
    "I guess Shampoo's just arrived," she mumbled.
    "Shampoo," Ranma muttered, knowing the sound of
    Amazon-collapsing-wall quite well.
    Daisuke was starting to hate the sounds of explosives - must be a
    girl thing.
    Yuka turned to the front and looked very much afraid. "Shampoo's
    here - Akane -?"
    Her look of askance turned into puzzlement, as Akane stood up,
    emitting distinctive dragon shapes in her red aura. "I accept your
    challenge!" she screamed as she left the room.
    "Challenge? Challenge?" Yuka was not quite sure about what she
    heard, but she wanted to find out. "Stay here, Dai-chan."
    Daisuke tried to stand, but waved a hand in disgust. "Don't call
    me Dai-chan."
    Hiroshi was tugging at the collar of his long-sleeved polo, and
    hoped that he wouldn't have to wear the rainproof jacket that matched the
    black slacks that he was sure he was sweating buckets in. Rounding the
    corner, he finally got to the front gate -
    - where Miss Hinako was peering furtively at the break in the wall
    just next to the wooden opening. Sayuri was doing this thing from her
    heels up and gave Hiroshi the impression that she was simultaneously
    tracing the paths of an spontaneously formed electron-positron pair
    through fifteen dimensions. Maybe to distract him from noticing the
    entire effect of her ensemble before the ceremony.
    He ran his fingers through his peppery hair, gave himself one of
    those grins, gave her another, gave the teacher yet another, which he had
    to mask when she realized that she was just in her CB form.
    Play it cool, H. She's gonna break, and all you really need is a
    snappy line to ease her tension and to smoothly cover your arm around her
    waist... maybe to loosen that belt a bit. Okay...
    He slid in close, just as Sayuri was placing her foot on a stable
    part of the wall, coughed, and suavely purred, "did I miss anything
    naked?"
    Ranma was about to open the door to the guestroom, forgetting that
    his mother was still inside, when Akane passed by, pulling him to
    Kasumi's room.
    Dr. Tofu closed the door to the dojo, and limped with Soun to the
    receiving room. On their way there, they passed the front door, which
    was opened by the Amazons.
    They eyed each other in that awkward manner that people who were
    really concerned about tangential matters eyed each other in a way to
    check for hidden weapons - a little shallowly, considering that those who
    were expert in the ways of the Invisible Hand, including one whose
    invisible hand was more of market forces, were none of the four.
    As a group, they stepped forward into the receiving room - and
    stopped.
    Sitting at the table were two of the Tendo daughters, Kasumi at the
    further end, Nabiki facing the pond, where the doors were open on that
    side of the room - more of slumping in that direction. While Kasumi
    appraised the two males as they entered, Nabiki seemed to seethe in wait,
    not noticing anyone.
    To the Amazons, Kasumi gestured to the other side of the table.
    Cologne handed Kasumi the invite.
    Soun sat at the other end of the table, firmly denying any control
    over the next events. Dr. Tofu sojourned to a corner, not quite avoiding
    Kasumi's eyes.
    The door facing Nabiki's back opened - Yuka peeked inside
    sheepishly. At Kasumi's beckoning (and despite her motioning to return
    later), she took a seat close to Soun on that side of the table.
    Near the door closest to the pond, someone ambled into view.
    Everyone turned to look at a slightly self-conscious Kuno entering.
    Kuno was looking at Nabiki, who had turned slightly, not staring back.
    When he sat just across from her, Nabiki pulled up her knees and
    quarter-turned toward Kasumi.
    For a moment, all was silent.
    Outside, someone said, "well, will you look at the time? I'm
    almost late! Excuse me," a door closing, "where's the receiving room?
    Oh, there - !" The door opposite the pond opened again, revealing the
    Shinto priest for a moment - before he was pulled away.
    "Hey!" Kasumi said, being in line of sight. "Come back here!"
    Jumping out, much tugging occurred off-screen.
    In moments, Kasumi, the Shinto priest, and Akane and Ranma, both in
    wedding garb, piled into the room. All four sat down on Kasumi's side,
    Akane clutching at Ranma, possessively, on the further side of the room,
    while the priest sat close to the door.
    Looking at a watch, Kasumi cleared her throat.
    "Welcome, friends, relatives and rivals to the marriage of Akane
    Tendo and Ranma Saotome!"
    The Amazons sat stoically, while Yuka gasped in reaction. Kuno
    turned, but was immediately attentive to Nabiki's whimpers in reaction.
    Dr. Tofu glanced up from his position.
    "You," she indicated the Amazons, "have been invited to participate
    in a three-way winner-take-all competition - the price of which is the
    hand of Ranma Saotome in marriage."
    "Three-way?" Yuka said. She looked at Akane, then at Shampoo,
    then at Cologne - then shivered.
    "Akane Tendo," Kasumi continued, motioning for her sister to stand,
    "you must take on all challengers. Your challengers are Shampoo, of the
    Joketsuzoku Amazon tribe:" Shampoo stood slowly.
    "Who is other challenger?" Shampoo asked, eyeing Akane. Akane
    wasn't giving her a very nice look, as was already emitting a dark red
    aura that clashed horribly with her white kimono.
    "Well..." Kasumi looked around in a theatrical fashion, "I guess
    it's me."
    "That bastard!" Tsubasa screamed, as he noticed Happosai veering
    to a side in mid-air. He didn't notice where they were going.
    "You?" Ranma gawked.
    "And I say, let the cooking begin!"
    Both Akane and Shampoo stopped to turn at Kasumi. "Cooking?"
    She pulled at their hands and started pulling them out the door.
    "You wouldn't want to *fight* little old me, now, right?"
    "Kasumi..." Akane whispered hotly, not entirely convinced that her
    sister was above suspicion, "what are you doing?"
    "Don't worry, Akane," she whispered back, "I'll handle this."
    The three combatants left the room, hand in hand.
    Happosai eyed someone along the road to the Tendo dojo. "That
    bastard!" He spread his arms and veered once again.
    The situation in the receiving room was tentative. The far side of
    the room was now empty, as though it was a karaoke stage when no one knew
    the lines of the song playing. Even Cologne seemed contemplative,
    absorbed by the loss of the moment.
    The sound of skittering. Yuka did not stop her, and soon Nabiki
    was by her father's side.
    "Eh?" Nabiki had already been halfway through bandaging the leaden
    leg, stopping at the shin. Soun could not be sure, but Nabiki's touch
    was soothing, a light massage on numbed nerves. What he could be sure of
    was that he saw the young Kuno shivering, shaking in a light manner, as
    though he was being punched by midget children.
    "Oh, my poor Soun!" Hinako was quickly at Soun's feet, so quickly
    that the Tendo patriarch was shocked silly.
    Nabiki didn't even register surprise, having quickly returned to
    her seat. She eyed the doctor in the corner.
    Tofu did not meet her scrutiny.
    "That bastard!" The tree rustled violently as though the branches
    were having a fight amongst themselves.
    Yuka excused herself from the crowd of guests, basically nodding to
    Soun and to Nabiki, and went out the way she came in.
    As she closed the door, she leaned back, and breathed in heavily.
    Then, having realized something suddenly, she turned around and
    stealthily opened the door behind her.
    Not stealthily enough, it seemed, because moments after it was
    closed, that door opened and closed once more.
    In the empty room facing the branches of the tree, Nodoka arranged
    the kimono around her. She stood up, went out the room, and went
    downstairs, oblivious of the events arising.
    "Well, hello there."
    Daisuke turned from where he sat and saw Mousse closing the door.
    In one hand, he was gingerly nursing a mug of warm tea.
    Lucky for both involved, perspective was not ideal for both of the
    players, because of the way that Daisuke's shirt fell off his shoulder,
    or the way that he lay on his side on the tatami, still awhirl with
    confusion, barely supporting himself on an arm, blinking from the light
    blazing from the door facing the pond.
    Yuka, however, had barely sat down, and saw the Amazon male.
    "Mousse!" She tried to tone down the lilt in her voice, but not enough,
    as Daisuke sharply turned his head at her as he sat up as well.
    Mousse smiled in a slightly embarrassed manner. "Um... are you
    also Kasumi's sisters?"
    Daisuke seemed to take the description to heart, and looked like
    someone stabbed him. "NO!" Yuka nearly screamed as she raised her hands
    at Mousse, but turned to her boyfriend as quickly. "We're Ranma and
    Akane's classmates," she explained.
    "Oh," Mousse said, and he proferred his mug. "Do you want some
    tea? Your friend seems like she'd want some."
    "No," Daisuke croaked out, at the female pronoun, "no need."
    "Oh, okay," Mousse acquiesced. He took a seat closer to the center
    of the room, just a few feet from where the two females were seated,
    facing them. He sipped on his tea thoughtfully, apparently taking in the
    sight of the two of them with some consideration. Then, after a moment
    more of deliberation, he put down the mug with some care and put each of
    his arms in the other's sleeve. With a little flourish, he produced two
    fluffy towels, and proferred these to the two girls.
    "Thanks," Yuka said, as she ran the towel through her slightly damp
    hair. Then she ran the same towel through Daisuke's shorter hair.
    Daisuke stared up at his girlfriend, who was still intent on
    getting his hair dry. When Yuka stopped and stared back, Daisuke was
    sniffling and already had largish teardrops waiting to fall from watery
    eyes.
    There was a knock on the sliding door closest to the stairwell.
    Ranma and Soun shared a look, and watched their nightmare walk into
    the room.
    Nodoka hazily entered the reception room, and then noticed everyone
    turn in her direction. Notably, Dr. Tofu turned to look, did a double
    take, pulled his glasses from his face, wiped them vigorously in a
    handkerchief, and put them back on his face. She, in turn, only bowed in
    acknowledgment to the assembly.
    She faced Ranma, who by now with the Tendo father, were flattening
    themselves against the far wall, and stretched her arms toward him.
    Since Ranma was at the point where one would think he would erupt
    in a mother-fu trance, Nabiki took it to herself to push him toward his
    mother's beckoning.
    His first step was in reaction, his second step for balance, his
    third step forgotten.
    "Whoa there, no need to be so nervous." Nodoka dusted off
    imaginary motes from the shoulders of Ranma's black hakama, and on the
    white tufts along the breasts of his top. She had her hands fall to her
    sides as he straightened in front of her.
    "Mom," Ranma started and, at that point, Nodoka started sobbing.
    "Mom, mom, mom." In his arms, Ranma realized that he was already
    starting to cry a little as well. He quickly ran an arm over his eyes
    and made it appear like he was gripping his mom's shoulder instead.
    "Where... where has the time gone?" she croaked. "Your father...
    your father..." She shook her head, unable to sort the myriad emotions
    clashing, hugging her son tighter.
    Everyone else in the room turned away in silent unanimous respect
    for the long-forestalled reunion of mother and son.
    "Who's that?" whispered Hinako hotly at Nabiki. "And why is my
    Soun-chan so scared of her?"
    "She's Ranma's mother." The now-eldest Tendo sister did not take
    her eyes off of the figure in the corner.
    "Oh," the priest interjected. "The groom's mother. I understand
    completely. Seen worse before, though. Really couldn't let go of her
    little boy, almost spilled sake on her during the ceremony. Scary
    woman."
    "What's going on?" Yuka wondered aloud, hopefully so that someone
    who knew the answer could supply it.
    Mousse visibly shrugged. "Seems like some party or some family
    reunion. Kasumi went out to send some invitations earlier, and then I
    saw a lot of food in the kitchen. She's probably cooking right now..."
    His legs unfurled underneath him, as though wanting to follow his trail
    of thought.
    "A party?" The girl with brown hair frowned. "It might not be a
    good time, then." She passed back the two towels to the bespectacled
    Amazon. "Though I'd wish I'd be able to tell Akane that we were leaving
    soon." And ask her about the rather compromising scene earlier.
    Because Mousse was trying not to exactly stare at the couple in the
    room, he wasn't entirely sure, but when Yuka had Daisuke rest his
    now-dried head on her bosom, he could almost swear that the girl with the
    boyish haircut was rubbing...?
    The door slid open. "I'm so glad that you're willing to stay in
    here for, I'd say, twenty-four more minutes, if Kasumi hadn't seemed to
    want to remodel the hallway and take the wall clock. Well," Nabiki
    turned to the assembled trio, "that's where the three of you were."
    The girl in the T-shirt sat up (dejectedly?) and the brown-haired
    girl stood up. "Ma'am," she bowed to Nodoka, deferring to age first.
    "Nabiki? Hi, we're," she waved vaguely to herself and to the girl with
    chic jet-black hair, "classmates of Akane and Ranma, and we were kind of
    hoping to talk to Ranma about his -" Nabiki's eyes were doing something
    that made Yuka flip through a thesaurus in her head "- experiences," Yuka
    continued fluidly, "that could help... us, with, something," she finished
    vaguely.
    Nabiki's eyes took in the sullen expression of the other girl, the
    towels that Mousse had at his knees, which were not theirs, obviously,
    and added in the Jusenkyo factor and came up to some interesting sums.
    She slapped lightly at the base of her neck, to swat away the buzzing
    around in her foremind, and said, "well, you can ask him after the
    wedding."
    "Oh, no," Yuka started, "we can't possibly..." then Nabiki's words
    set in.
    Mousse beat either of the Furinkan freshmen by asking, "who's
    getting married?"
    "First things first." She turned to her companion. "Everyone,
    this is Mrs. Nodoka Saotome, Ranma's mother."
    Some bowing occurred. "Auntie, these are Ranma and Akane's
    classmates at Furinkan High," then she indicated the two girls.
    Nodoka had a slightly ghosted smile on her face as she bowed. "I
    hope my son has been righteous and kind to his and his fiancée's friends,
    colleagues and instructors."
    Yuka didn't quite know what to say, so there was pleasant surprise
    when Daisuke, the eternal diplomat, found the best statement for the
    occasion: "In all honesty and deference to you, ma'am, and the Tendo
    family, I think there is no other person of our age who has a better
    grasp of the consequences of marriage."
    That somehow brightened Nodoka's expression, if only by a bit. But
    she hazarded the two of them her most heartfelt smile, and they both felt
    that it hurt, had a sharp edge.
    "And, Auntie, this is Mousse," Nabiki wanted to follow it up with
    something like, "Ranma's friend from China", or "friend of Shampoo, who's
    challenging Akane for Ranma", but seeing the Jai-Alai moves he put on her
    earlier, the latter would seem like the exact wrong thing to say.
    Mousse bowed, and cordially offered, "of all the men I have ever
    fought, Ranma is the most consistent, most inventive and most successful
    of them all." He had the shadow of a grin on his face when he concluded,
    "he fights just as though he was a woman."
    For a moment, Nabiki thought she would throttle the bastard, but he
    smoothly added, "coming from an adopted Chinese Amazon, that's the
    highest praise that can be bestowed on a man."
    Yuka let out a breath she didn't know she kept.
    Nodoka bowed, and when she straightened up, she allowed herself to
    laugh in a light way. "My, my. Ranma really has met some strange and
    wonderful people on his training trip. I must ask him all about it."
    The way she breathed in and out after that statement made the others
    wonder about her health, until she stopped herself, and sat herself down.
    Nabiki took everyone in a glance. "Well, as to who's getting
    married, I guess we'll find out within the hour, I guess."
    "Anything-Goes Martial Arts Marriage Competition." Nodoka seemed
    like she wasn't quite in the room anymore. "You have to imagine, with a
    young fledgling Martial Arts School with limited membership, in the
    possibility of marrying and building a family, each child would, de
    facto, be entered into the Anything-Goes Martial Arts Founding School on
    his or her two-thousandth day, or as early as he or she can grasp the
    twenty-two basic concepts of Anything-Goes Martial Arts."
    She summoned a breath. "In order to maintain and diversify the
    School, each coupling must be approved by the heads of the School, and
    any contesting of the coupling must be tested once per challenger, and
    thus adjudged by all who attend the ceremony. The youngest of the
    competitors must choose the parameters of the battle, which must elapse
    within an hour of the arrival of a duly-authorized marriage official."
    Nabiki waited for her to continue, but she stopped there. "And
    that's why everyone is waiting for the three in the kitchen to finish
    lunch. Which is why Auntie is staying here, since her opinion may be the
    most important in that room," she said, pointing back toward the
    receiving room, "why you," pointing at Mousse, "will be staying here with
    her, as an impartial guard, and why you two," she indicated the other two
    girls, "have got to get something a little more festive." Eyes rolled
    through three wardrobes. She turned to Mousse, asking, "you've got
    something there, for...?"
    Mousse stared at her blankly for a few seconds before dipping into
    his sleeves with both hands. (For some reason, she felt she wouldn't
    have been surprised if his hands leapt out of his tunic with high-caliber
    pistols.) He pulled out two nondescript cardboard boxes, and offered
    them to the two other guests.
    Both of them eyed the boxes with some suspicion, but it was the one
    wearing a blouse that took the box and promptly misguessed its weight.
    Daisuke was able to help his girlfriend before she toppled into the box,
    and God only knew what would happen then. He, on the other hand, took
    Mousse's package with both hands and added ten pounds for certainty. He
    was off by about ten pounds more.
    The one piece dresses in the boxes were identical, save for the
    colors which were pink and maroon for the cloth and the hemming, reversed
    for the two outfits. Daisuke aired out his, the maroon one, and found
    the weight was at the bottom of his box, in the form of two nasty heavy
    bracelets ringed with sharp spikes. "Innnteresting" was all he said.
    Mousse didn't comment - instead, he took off his glasses and
    cradled it in his lap.
    "I guess that means you guys can dress up here," Nabiki concluded,
    so if you'll excuse me, Mousse, ladies, Auntie," and she took her leave.
    Nodoka looked like she was about to protest, but noticing how
    Daisuke was already out of his shirt and Mousse had not even reacted in
    the least made everything All Right, if not Completely Clear.
    Daisuke, of course, did not look down. He stiffly pushed down his
    pants, which left him in boxers that ignored his waist and clung to his
    hips. He squatted downward, searching for the maroon one-piece with his
    right hand, stood up and draped the silken dress over his head and onto
    himself. Yuka wondered if she should've commented at this point, but
    refrained. When he looked like he was struggling to find air, she helped
    him.
    Not bad, Yuka thought ruefully, aside from the slightly ill-fitting
    chest that was somewhat loose, it still hugged his hips tightly, and
    showed as much leg as he had. It was as small as she thought. She
    nodded, and Daisuke began to appraise himself. Yuka tossed Mousse a
    dirty glance, but rolled back some pictures of Shampoo's wardrobe and
    thought correctly, that this was an improvement, overall.
    Daisuke hitched his boxers a bit then, satisfied with his
    appearance, he turned on his own away from her. As she started
    unbuttoning, Yuka wondered if this really was too bad for them, overall.
    Kuno suddenly sat up straight, and cocked his head slightly to the
    right.
    The shinto priest sipped at the teacup, then sighed in discontent.
    "I told you so that that was the front door," a female voice from
    just outside the frontmost door said, a little grumpily. "So what's rule
    number 1?"
    Hiroshi looked henpecked as he was nursing a bruised cheek.
    "Beware of unarmed, wrinkled old men who smile?" Then they noticed the
    stares they got from everyone in the waiting room.
    They self-consciously bowed toward Soun, Ranma and the Shinto
    priest, and sat at the side opposite the one that Kuno was sitting at,
    but not in the kendoist's line of sight. Sayuri scanned through the room
    and wondered whether she should be sitting this close to the center of
    the room. She tried to edge imperceptively from Cologne.
    Hiroshi, however, could only grin from ear to ear. He edged closer
    to his corner and indicated to Ranma to sit next to him.
    Hiroshi clicked his tongue, only so Ranma could hear. "Lemme
    guess... they finally caught you guys making out in the dojo late at
    night, eh?"
    The fact that Ranma was blanching partly in indignation, partly in
    guilt at having someone toss hammers blindfolded ten meters away still
    hitting the nail on the head, did not help his defense.
    Hiroshi waved it off. "At least you're man enough to own up, man."
    He clapped Ranma on the back, twice. "So...," Hiroshi leaned in closer,
    "Where are they? I mean, they should be here...." He craned his neck
    around. "The old hag, even Kuno's here, who's that?" He squinted at Dr.
    Tofu. "Anyway, no sign of Ukyo, or Shampoo, well, she's definitely here,
    or else the termites have gotten frisky, or Kodachi."
    "Shampoo's here, alright," Ranma hissed back, "but no Kodachi or
    Ukyo. Shampoo's in the kitchen with Akane and Kasumi."
    "Kasumi?" Hiroshi wondered for a moment. "Oh, Akane's oldest
    sister." His shoulders sagged. "I saw her while she was still in junior
    high, on the rhythmic gymnastics team. Rrrowr." He nudged Ranma. "You
    dawg."
    "What?"
    "Look, it's an Anything-Goes thing, so there's gotta be some
    fighting over you, or Akane, or both." He slipped a look at Kuno. "I
    was kinda hoping it'd be some sorta Pride FC thing, but it's just
    cooking. Too bad, if Ukyo was here, she'd win, hands down."
    "You want me to marry Ukyo?"
    Somehow, Hiroshi stopped himself from saying "Why not?"
    Sayuri stopped her fiddling and fidgeting. "Um," she turned to
    Soun, "Mr. Tendo, sir, are we going to be waiting long?"
    Soun seemed a little tentative. "Hmmm, maybe some twenty minutes
    or so. Why?"
    Sayuri stood up and bowed. "Sorry. I just can't stand the
    silence." She rushed to the door. "I'll be back in a bit." She smiled
    as she went to the door.
    Hiroshi turned to the retreating figure and smiled as well. "Yeah,
    I guess that's appropriate for the reception of an Anything-Goes
    Marriage."
    "What is?"
    "Party games," Hiroshi supplied.
    The last remaining pieces of the tableau were playing a strange
    variation of Follow the Leader.
    The one closest to the brewing cesspot of chaos was quite easily
    the slowest of them, adding to that the fact that he was being careful to
    keep his hands from swinging too much.
    The one following him was also trying to remember to keep his
    trigger fingers in check, but was not trailing him per se, as much as
    tailing him in mid-air. His body, perfected by age, did not resemble
    anything aerodynamic, but was, nonetheless, gliding quite well in the
    noonish breeze.
    The one following the flying freak, who now realized that
    summer-baked concrete was not good for the hands, so was flitting along
    the sides of the road, often in the trees, and on the clotheslines along
    the way.
    The last one wasn't quite in his skin, and he realized it just
    then. "What the-?" He stopped for a moment, but realized that if he
    spent a moment more admiring his own newfound assets, he would lose his
    current love-of-his-life.
    Tsubasa followed Kodachi trailed Happosai shadowed Gosunkugi.
    When Nabiki came back from the kitchen, everyone in the room had
    not sat around the low table, with the exception of Ranma and Kuno.
    Everyone at the table had four cards in his or her hand, five white go
    pieces in front of them, and was listening to Sayuri, who was continuing
    her explanation of the rest of the game rules.
    "Okay, now here," she took the cards she had Hiroshi shuffle, "are
    the role cards. Each round, we reshuffle this set, set aside one card,"
    which she did, "and, starting from the King of the previous round, or,
    since we drew for it earlier, to Mr. Tendo," he took the cards from her,
    "we each select a role for this round. If you've forgotten what each
    role can do, or the order of the sequence when each role can play, it's
    on the card."
    As Soun carefully read the captions on each of the cards, Nabiki
    asked Sayuri, "is this going to take long? They're going to be bringing
    in the food in about five minutes, and we're going to need the table."
    "Oh, that's okay. It's just a try-out round. We'll be playing
    after everything's done. Would you like to join? We just started."
    Nabiki waved her hand to decline, moving away. "Don't you know?
    First round, I never play: I always watch." She smiled as she sat next
    to Ranma.
    Ranma let a bit of his anxiety seep into his question. "How're
    they doing in there?"
    Nabiki shook her head. "You know I can't tell you that, Ranma.
    And there's no use worrying about Akane. Don't tell me you don't trust
    her."
    Ranma sighed. "I trust her, alright? I just don't trust her
    cooking."
    "Kasumi knew what she was doing when she called it. And I knew
    well enough to feed her those mushrooms earlier."
    "Where did you get those? I didn't know you guys kept some from
    the time me and Ryoga..." Ranma stopped in mid-recollection at Nabiki's
    unusual reaction, which was, well, something other than her usual snide
    poker face.
    Nabiki refocussed and realized she was looking straight at Kuno,
    who was looking back at her. She whipped back to Ranma, almost hissing,
    "What?"
    "Nothing, nothing," Ranma said peaceably, wondering if his
    arch-nemesis would have lost his way to the Tendo dojo today, considering
    that he hadn't seen the porker since Akane took him to bed two days ago.
    Let's just see him crawl into her bed after today.
    Back at the table, Soun had finally decided on his role, and passed
    the rest of the cards facedown to his left, clockwise along the table to
    Miss Hinako. She quickly scanned through the set and picked one almost
    immediately, passing the remaining to Sayuri.
    Sayuri gave her English teacher an appreciative look and scanned
    through her set of cards. She gave a moment to consider what cards were
    missing, and wondered which card was reserved for the Shinto priest to
    consider. She picked a card and gave the rest to Hiroshi.
    Hiroshi fanned open the four cards and had a small look of
    surprise. He took one card and passed the rest to Cologne.
    Cologne fanned the three cards open, and didn't take too long to
    pick her card from the limited options.
    Dr. Tofu, as well, merely took the more useful of the two cards he
    could choose from.
    Sayuri gave the priest the card she had set aside earlier, and had
    him choose between that and the card that Dr. Tofu didn't choose. He let
    Dr. Tofu's discard be left alone.
    On the dot, Nabiki stood up, and went to check in on the kitchen
    once more.
    "Okay," Sayuri said, "we can start the round." She showed everyone
    her card. "Since I'm this round's Assassin, I go first. I'll
    assassinate someone, and he or she won't be able to make any actions this
    round. I choose...," she made a point to turn away from her left, "...
    to kill the Thief."
    Hiroshi exploded, "AAARGH!" Then when everyone was staring at him,
    he pointed to Sayuri accusingly, and sat down.
    The ponytailed girl did not even turn at his outburst. "So, for my
    turn, I will choose to get two gold pieces and to build a domain." She
    threw some go pieces in the bowl with the rest of the pieces and placed
    one of the cards she had in her hand on the table. "And my turn is
    done."
    Hiroshi grumpily said. "Since the Thief is SUPPOSED to go second,
    I'm next." He turned over his role card. "But, since someone
    Assassinated me, I'm done as well."
    Sayuri let her grin show this time. "So next is the Magician.
    Who's the Magician?"
    Dr. Tofu supplied, "no one." He turned the discarded card over,
    and sure enough, there was the Magician.
    "No Magician here. Next is the King."
    "That's me!" Hinako chirped. She showed her card to everyone
    before putting it on the table.
    At this point, the door slid open, and Yuka and Daisuke entered the
    room. Since Hiroshi wasn't too keen on following the game as it was
    unfolding, he noticed them immediately, so he stood up and ushered them
    into the room.
    "Hey, hey there, Yuka. Nice legs." Hiroshi noticed that the other
    girl, who he couldn't quite place, but who was wearing a matching outfit,
    was starting to bluster. "And who might you be, miss?"
    "No one you'd be interested in, Hiroshi," Daisuke muttered.
    Hiroshi squinted, and then opened his eyes widely. He waved a
    finger to point at the girl with the boyish-cut hair. "I... know you.
    You... you're in our class."
    "Well, duh, Einstein," Daisuke deadpanned.
    Yuka sat down, next to Sayuri, and waited for her to explain to the
    Shinto priest what exactly a Bishop was.
    "Kozue?"
    Daisuke sat down next to Yuka, and Hiroshi sat down next to him.
    The now-female Daisuke made sure to stretch as much of the skirt down
    along his thigh as he could. "Do I look like Kozue to you?"
    The door the newcomers came through opened once more.
    As they shuttled bowls to the table, Kasumi whispered to Nabiki,
    "you have to choose one of them, sister."
    "Now is not the time, sister. And I could say the same to you."
    As the two Tendo sisters helped Sayuri clear the table, they
    prepared bowls of rice for everyone now seated at the table, and then
    placed plates of vegetables and easy-to-cook meats, the bulk of what
    would be the luncheon.
    In the hubbub, Kuno inched toward the table. Just when he thought
    he would be able to catch Nabiki's attention, she nearly jumped to her
    feet to open the last set of sliding doors.
    Not looking at each other, Akane and Shampoo walked in with their
    competition pieces.
    Kasumi set a small dining table at Ranma's seat, and placed a bowl
    of miso soup, her own contribution to the fête. Not to say that it was a
    bow-out to the other two competitors, it already did its job of working
    up Ranma's appetite for the coming barrage of foodstuffs, with an almost
    crisp tang of bean curd and fresh onions. She passed slightly smaller
    bowls of the appetizer to the rest of those gathered.
    Shampoo brandished her vessel, which was a full-sized earthen jar,
    which obscured her entire torso. She, in turn, placed it in the middle
    of the table, and uncovered the concoction.
    A tantalizing and mouthwatering potpourri wafted out from the mouth
    of the jar, causing most of the younger guests to stand up to peer into
    it.
    Cologne cackled victoriously. "Jumping Buddha Wall. Well done,
    child." Shampoo only nodded grimly in response to her elder's praise.
    Akane, on the other hand, only had one covered bowl in her hands.
    Ranma tried to hide the look of dread that threatened to jump at his
    facial features.
    She placed the bowl on the small table, and uncovered it.
    A well-placed silence permeated the room, sharing time with the
    Jumping Buddha Wall's odors.
    "What... what IS it?" Ranma wanted to know.
    "Vengeful pork," Akane intoned.
    The clock ticked lunch, then hell broke loose.
    


	27. Herbs and Spices: Wheel of Fortune


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 22 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny-weeny thanks to whoever else
    even saw this. HARSH LANGUAGE HERE. Niceness patch to follow soon.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Wheel of Fortune
    Kasumi and Nabiki went out of the kitchen door, arms laden with
    lunch and heads full of each other's marriage. Whereas Kasumi was
    insistent that Nabiki would do well to decide between Kuno and Dr. Tofu,
    who she figured was better off with the middle Tendo daughter, Nabiki was
    wondering if Kasumi was going to decide to suddenly take Ranma away from
    Akane, or if Dr. Tofu was going to make her change her mind. Of course,
    they weren't able to say as much in so much detail, so when they entered
    the reception room, whatever they had wanted to say evaporated.
    Kuno raised his head the moment just before the door slid open, and
    wanted so desperately to catch Nabiki's eye. So many things running
    through his mind, as though the freeways were suddenly opened all
    throughout his left hemisphere and everyone needed to get to work. Her
    kissing him, Ranma being the pigtailed girl, Akane and Ranma getting
    married, Nabiki kissing him, him now cursed with the same gender-bending
    that Ranma had, Nabiki kissing him, the buzzing in his head, and how he
    could tell that Nabiki so wanted to forget about him. Why would he know
    that she wanted to forget the way that his lips felt? And why was he so
    sure that if he gave up now, she'd never talk to him again? He went to
    the center table to try his luck.
    The Shinto priest couldn't believe his luck. Just when he was
    about to make his move, the ceremony was going to begin. Then again,
    this was the first time in a long while since he had performed a wedding.
    And it had been a long time since he'd been in this house, and the last
    time was pretty exciting as well. He'd been here before - didn't he
    think about that before? That time with the dangerous demon trapped in a
    box. Then he thought about that nice girl who was always smiling and
    remembered that she always made tea. That made him smile.
    Cologne smiled. The Jumping Buddha Wall was a well-kept secret
    among Chinese cooks. In fact, it is said that the God of Cookery himself
    was the only one who could make a meal that can best the Jumping Buddha
    Wall. She sniffed the air: there it was, the nine distinct meats that
    made up the Jumping Buddha Wall, each individual flavor seeping into each
    other, making eighty-one distinct flavors. No doubt, Shampoo was able to
    use her Internal Skills to make the cooking time shorten from the
    required forty-nine hours to around two minutes, or else, she must have
    used a typical gas stove and an assortment of instant bullions and a
    pinch of the essence of flavor, cooking for at least the twenty minutes
    that it took them to cook. She nodded and marvelled at how modern
    technology and ancient techniques were perfectly harmonious.
    Hiroshi was suddenly at ease in the tense atmosphere. He knew
    exactly what was going on: there was going to be a fight, and he wasn't
    part of it. He pulled on Sayuri's wrist and pulled her about as far as
    they could get from the groom/judge before the sparks started to fly.
    The moment that Akane revealed the contents of the bowl, Ranma's
    worst fears were realized. It all made sense: the clothes she wore last
    night, catching wind of a heated conversation at the Ucchan's, the fact
    that Ukyo herself was not here, this - this bowl of "Vengeful Pork"
    before him. Somehow, Akane had pieced the truth from Ukyo, and the both
    of them had done in the li'l porker. He screamed and jumped away from
    Akane's entrée.
    Akane did not understand why Ranma was so upset. So it wasn't as
    fancy as Shampoo's Dancing Buddhist Bowl, or whatever, but this was her
    best, her finest meal to date. For one, it looked right. What did
    Kasumi tell her? Work with what you're good at? Put your feelings into
    your food? If you put your heart into your cooking, it will taste as
    good as you want it to taste? What was it that made Ranma jump out of
    his skin?
    Cologne took this interruption to make her move. She bounded over
    the table using the cane and pulled out her secret weapon from her pocket
    and shoved it in Ranma's gaping mouth. Only she was a few feet short,
    and someone else's gaping mouth was in the way.
    When her instincts came into play, at Ranma's scream, Hinako jumped
    up with a five-yen piece in-between two fingers, her back to protect the
    screamer. When she started to ask what was going on, someone stuffed her
    mouth with something soft yet crunchy - and so she bit and swallowed the
    mushroom that was in her mouth.
    When Hinako swallowed the fungus, she stopped to look at everyone.
    She looked like she wanted to say something, but immediately Cologne's
    finger was at her lips.
    Ranma's eyes caught the interplay, and opened wide.
    Akane turned to look at them, but not before someone said a verb.
    All eyes were on Sayuri. Before Hiroshi could stop her, she
    pointed at their teacher and repeated what she had just said.
    "She's gonna drain us!"
    Hinako finally registered the action and the trigger for her
    hypnosis, and started to oblige her student by initiating the Happy 5-Yen
    Good-Girl-Get-Well Technique.
    Nabiki pushed Kasumi to the floor, just to glance at Kuno, who
    covered the two of them in turn. If she could have, she would have given
    him a look that would thank him, only if he kept his body parts to
    himself. She also noticed that only the Furinkan folks knew well enough
    to jump out of the way.
    Case in point: Yuka and Daisuke dove to get their non-combatant
    classmates out of the way. And, since Daisuke didn't realize until he
    knew better, Hiroshi was now wondering about who of their classmates wore
    boxers. Plain white boxers, too, not even cutesy frilly pink boxers, or
    ones with ducks or whatnot, or say "Boy".
    Shampoo's reaction was way too slow, since on the week that Hinako
    first came to school, she had been on a training trip with Cologne. In
    any case, Cologne should have been fast enough to avoid any attack, so
    she just braced herself.
    Since no one else was in the cone of absorption, Cologne found
    herself alone being reduced to a prunish state symptomatic of being
    victimized by Hinako's ki-draining technique, as though this would
    actually be noticeable.
    This also left Hinako with quite a devastating figure, naturally
    bursting at the seams of her outfit. She quite gave Yuka and Daisuke's
    Mousse-sponsored ensemble a run for the money. She also seemed a little
    confused as to what had just happened.
    To her credit, and much to everyone's surprise, Cologne was still
    standing, albeit woozily. She seemed to be trying to prop herself up
    with the staff on one hand, while the other was fishing for something
    within her cloak. She was mumbling something in Chinese, way too low for
    any human to hear.
    But they do say that being cursed by the springs of Jusenkyo leaves
    something in the cursed even when she's human. So Shampoo's eyes grew
    large as she nodded imperceptibly, and she rushed her elder.
    As Shampoo streaked across the room, she set her mind at the goals
    she had at hand. If she wanted to move about freely, she couldn't afford
    to let them be able to follow her. And, if her grandmother's inventory
    of what Mousse had brought with him here was accurate, she would have
    enough ammunition for the contest. But first, she needed a patsy.
    Hiroshi was sitting up, because he knew damn well that if something
    was going down, or going out, trying and straining against something to
    go out, he needed to see it, even at the price of life, limb or
    (hopefully) nosebleed. Imagine his surprise when he sat up to a quite
    explicit close-up of the only hidden piece of Shampoo's currently worn
    clothing, which made Hiroshi think that red really was a lucky color in
    China.
    Shampoo glanced back and, sure enough, pulling up the bottom of her
    dress in that instant left a suitable reaction in a receptive male. She
    flicked a hypnosis mushroom in the direction of Hiroshi's openly gaping
    mouth.
    "Point at," Shampoo pulled down the neckline of her dress to make
    sure that Hiroshi was not going to miss her point.
    Obediently, Hiroshi obediently lifted his arm and started to point,
    as Shampoo jumped toward the pond, glancing back to see if her elder was
    in any danger lying prone near the table, then smiled as she saw the lady
    in the yellow dress pull out another coin.
    Ranma rushed his teacher from the back, arms poised oddly, as she
    readied to drain his classmates once more. He intended to use the
    pressure points that the old master had taught him, and actually tried to
    use on Hinako for thirty consecutive days, until the weekend, when she
    was completely nowhere to be seen. He pressed the two points on her
    back, and had his left hand feeling along her left breast when he and the
    English teacher were steamrolled.
    Akane wanted to kill the bastard, and that slutty teacher that, not
    only wanting to seduce her father, had her husband-to-be want to jump her
    and squeeze her breast! THE BITCH!
    The three of them flew through the sliding door, and landed roughly
    just right of the largish stones ringing the pond. Ranma did the smart
    thing by letting go of the older woman as soon as he was sure she was
    uninjured and held Akane's wrists. So he definitely wasn't ready when
    Akane headbutted him back to the house.
    Mousse stood up just as the sliding door toward the pool exploded
    inward in a hail of splinters and door-paper. The bespectacled Amazon
    shielded the Saotome matron from the debris, and was in good position to
    shield her from the sight of Ranma's crumpled form, who seemed more
    genuinely shocked at the nasty red welt on his forehead than any actual
    damage.
    Akane seemed inclined to do much more damage to the teacher. Her
    wild blood-red aura seemed to burst around her, whipping her hair and the
    folds of her wedding kimono about, and she raised her fist, quite willing
    to make the jump on the teacher before she could even raise the coin.
    Dr. Tofu held Akane's wrist and quickly pressed three points on
    Akane's back and neck, before he pressed another pressure point, so her
    now limp body jerked spasmodically, releasing the built-up ki. He
    carried the dazed Akane in his arms, while he knelt down to check on Miss
    Hinako.
    The disciplinarian teacher was astounded by the speed that events
    were unfurling, mostly because of the hypnotism. When her head cleared,
    she was laying down outside the house, and a quietly handsome face
    floated above her. She'd noticed him earlier fleetingly, but in this
    proximity, she was beginning to register some details that were
    immediately intriguing, like how he had the air of a doctor - the way he
    looked at her with the air of detachment and analysis, so unlike the
    stares of the young men of her daily school life. Even the way he seemed
    to be intently scrutinizing her left breast with a clinical eye was
    making her tingly all over. She leapt at him, arms to latch onto his
    neck.
    Soun was watching with a lot of worry spread across the landscape,
    but Tofu seemed to be on top of the situation. Nonetheless, he wanted to
    make sure of her safety, so he was already behind the younger man when
    the busty woman jumped at the doctor. He watched the moxibustionist
    maintain his ground, and even straighten up. When Tofu had turned to
    him, Soun offered to carry his daughter back.
    Nabiki was watching the four near the pond from her vantage point,
    helping Kasumi pick up some of the mess made by spilled soup and upended
    rice bowls. She also noted her sister's reactions to what was going on,
    and had to smirk when Kasumi's back straightened noticeably when Tofu
    suddenly found himself at the attentions of the truant officer.
    Ever nonchalant, the Shinto priest was sipping miso from a soup
    ladle and watching the event with some amusement. So this was what an
    Anything-Goes Wedding was all about - screaming, crashing through doors,
    and quite a bit of sexual tension. It was barely though the soup, yet.
    He took the bowl that Kasumi offered him, and passed it to the person
    nearest to him.
    Uninterested, Kuno waved off the appetizer, and stood up. He
    wanted to talk to Nabiki but she kept herself busy, and something was
    buzzing in his mind, telling him that locating Shampoo was of utmost
    importance, but she was too fast, and it would somehow make Nabiki SOOO
    so much happier if SOMEONE would look for her. He stepped to the door,
    left open by the freshmen who fled the room after the rumble earlier,
    without wondering how exactly he knew what Nabiki would feel, and that it
    would probably be best to start in the guestroom, since Shampoo last saw
    Mousse there. Who was Mousse?
    Apparently, looking for Shampoo was also on the agenda of the four
    freshmen, with Hiroshi and Daisuke leading the way up the stairs just
    ahead of Kuno. They both figured that where Shampoo was going to be was
    where something interesting was going to happen, although after Hiroshi
    stopped several times to point at Daisuke's and Yuka's décolletages, they
    had him doing rear guard duty, and with Sayuri to keep watch on him.
    The foursome rounded the corner at the top of the stairs and
    Hiroshi slid the door to the upstairs guestroom, immediately noting the
    chaos left by the earlier trysts there. Daisuke checked the view from
    the window, but since the people near the pond had gone back to the
    receiving room, there was nothing to see. Also, the tree was obscuring
    quite a bit of the field of vision, but he could see someone approaching
    the house through the gap in the wall.
    Gosunkugi panted, partly out of breath, partly out of elation.
    Here, he was going to show Saotome the true might of the changeform.
    Here, he was going to show everyone how he was going to harness and to
    utilize the power of transforming into a girl! He was going to show them
    what being a girl was all about! He rang the doorbell and patiently
    waited for someone to come to the door.
    At the sound of the doorbell, Nodoka stood up, assured that, if she
    was not going to be able to do anything until the wedding began, and she
    needed to do something to be useful. Of course, Mousse went with her,
    because it was his job for the next half-hour or so.
    Shampoo finally found the room where she last found Mousse, but
    there was no one there. Damn! Where was he? She really should've
    waited until much much later to return Akane's uniform, which her rival
    loaned her two days ago. Why did she feel that she had to tie up her
    loose ends right now? She jumped into the room through the broken door.
    The door to the downstairs guestroom opened once more, and Kuno
    just wanted to make sure. He already passed by it to see two women there
    (neither of which was Shampoo), and went to check the toilet, the bath,
    the kitchen and the back door, but something insisted that the guestroom
    would be where to check. So, lo and behold, the Amazon was right there.
    Now what?
    Since neither of them had noticed, Nabiki was able to stumble into
    the room from the wooden walk around the rooms without either one able to
    take advantage of the distraction she presented. She made it a point to
    be looking down, but when she noticed bare legs, she looked up. It only
    took seconds for her to register Shampoo, then Kuno. She looked at the
    two of them, then raised her hand to shakily point roughly at the two of
    them.
    "You...!" This Nabiki said to Shampoo. "You...!" This time, her
    finger pointed to Kuno. "I... I..." She was fairly flustered, her eyes
    huge, and her mouth long and narrow, as though her cheeks were billowing
    slightly inward. "I HATE YOU!" Again, Nabiki was pointing at Shampoo,
    but more in her face. "And I HATE YOU! Too!" She was actually smiling a
    bit, and looked much more manic.
    Shampoo smiled. "You eat fish from Jumping Buddha Wall, yes?"
    Nabiki stepped up right to Shampoo, who had already turned to the
    short-haired girl. "And I REALLY hated it!" And she swung her arm
    around viciously to Shampoo's head.
    Tatewaki watched the Amazon barely avoid the hit, put off-balance
    by the reckless punch. He felt quite a bit of a shiver as Nabiki stepped
    closer. Her finger pointing at him, she said, "And you... I REALLY
    *DON'T* hate YOU." He felt her peck his cheek, electricity, as she
    skipped out of the room through the door he came in through.
    Hiroshi, who opted to go downstairs first, noticed Nabiki traipsing
    along the hallway as though it was full of freshly harvested sakura
    petals and she was sniffing something entirely illegal and probably
    expensive. As she entered the receiving room, he saw Hikaru Gosunkugi
    enter the front door after a fairly pretty yet haunted-looking
    middle-aged woman and Mousse. He also noted that Gosunkugi's pants
    looked a little damp, and that he had water pistols in his hands. That's
    good ol' Gos' for you, picking up the worst thing to use in a fight. He
    tailed them to the reception room; he was getting quite famished.
    Much as he wanted to come out with guns dousing, Gosunkugi thought
    better of it and waited for the right moment before he let his feminine
    side show. That was why he was able to appreciate fully how completely
    unstable the situation before him was: Akane and Ranma were screaming at
    the tops of each other's throats over this barbecued-pork rice bowl; the
    Shinto priest was telling Akane's father a story about this monk who
    turns into a monkey, interrupting himself often, while Akane's father was
    just staring at this young ponytailed girl in a brown jumper-dress; the
    aforementioned girl fixing plates and bowls, occasionally offering food
    to the others in the room and talking to Akane's egregious sister,
    Nabiki, who seemed a little too chipper; that chiropractor, Dr. Tofu,
    squatting a few feet away from a blindfolded and fully-formed Miss
    Hinako, who was giggling and squirming quite a bit, in the far corner of
    the room. The last made Hikaru feel a little soft-kneed, but he steeled
    himself, fingers on triggers.
    Hiroshi clapped the smaller student on the shoulder, surprising
    Gosunkugi, but not enough to either get himself wet or scream aloud. He
    called to the three upstairs, telling them that another of their number
    was there, and it was probably time to eat, right? Shampoo'll just pop
    up. He thought of what he had been seeing pop out, and he smiled.
    Shampoo popped out from the kitchen, fully pleased with herself.
    She found it all. The only truly worrisome thing was that each of the
    containers was half-full, although she wasn't sure if they had been used
    before Mousse took them. Did the Tendos use them while they were cooking
    for lunch today?
    She took stock of what she fetched: passion spice, nearly empty;
    five longish aging mushrooms, which she recognized from one of their
    fetch runs; a large and really old ginseng root, completely uncut, and
    would make quite a few gallons of really strong herbal tea; three cloves
    of attraction garlic, which is a revered Amazon weapon, used during the
    early fights with the Cultists of the Muscle Sword, where they would be
    attracted to the Amazon warrior's extra-strong pheromones and would come
    close enough so that the Amazon's extra-strong garlic-breath would
    incapacitate them; and quite a bit of aromatic herbs of all sorts, none
    of which seem to have been used to flavor the dishes - notably, a small
    bit of chicken saffron, used by warrior mothers everywhere to honorably
    discharge their overzealous little warriors for days on end, stamens of
    the horribly reclusive lily-liver.
    That herb in particular was notable because that was flung in the
    air as Daisuke was flung into her by a rampaging Sayuri. As they were
    both breathing heavily, both of them had inhaled the stringy, wispy herb
    and were reflexively sneezing, to no avail. Daisuke came to, and noticed
    that the Amazon was below him, and reflexively threw both arms up, which
    was why he was flung back as Shampoo also threw her hands up in the same
    reflexive way.
    Still fuming, Sayuri dragged her freckled classmate to the hallway,
    all the while glaring at Daisuke, who yelped and scrambled to his feet as
    the pair came out. "Keep your hands off of Hiroshi, you!" She hugged
    his right arm tighter and glared even harder, while the faux girl had
    fled to the guestroom, sliding the door open and shut quickly. Having
    been escaped from, Sayuri set her sights on the other girl in the
    hallway, who was hurriedly picking up her great-grandmother's foodstuffs.
    When Shampoo turned to notice Sayuri's glare, the warrior-woman "eep!"ed
    and ran to the guestroom as well.
    When Daisuke entered the room, Mousse thought that he had the
    glimpse of someone in the hallway that he did not want to meet. When the
    door opened a second time, he stood up and greeted the newcomer with a
    grimace of disgust. His change of expression piqued the interest of
    Nodoka, who sat with her back to the door, and was ignored by Kuno, who
    was stretched out and cooled with a wet hand towel on his forehead.
    Shampoo slid the door closed and then turned - to see a glowering
    Mousse. She felt the blood draining from her face, from her arms, as the
    shakers and packets fell to her feet, and from her legs, as her feet
    pushed outward under her weight, and she fell to her knees.
    She watched with horror, wondering - dreading - what he was going
    to do to her, catching her with his stolen goods. She watched his face
    unclench, contorting in mild confusion, but too quickly a sinister,
    bright light sparked in his eyes, and his features twisted maliciously.
    Mousse viciously berated her, in terse Japanese, "That's just so
    amazing, Shampoo. What is it, the chicken saffron? Feeling a little
    scared of me? Weak, stupid, Mousse?" He made claws at her, and she
    cringed. "You so stupid, Shampoo." He leered. "Never had a plan
    backfire on you this bad, huh? Always thinking you could use your secret
    herbs and spices to get your way, HUH?"
    He stepped forward, making her skitter back, but he saw her eyes
    beginning to regain their steel, their ire. "I guess you thought they'd
    make everything right, right? Look at ME." He pointed at himself.
    "Here I am, and you can't even hit me like you do EVERY TIME I told you
    that I LOVED YOU." He spat, and Daisuke crawled quickly out of his
    corner of the room, and out toward the pond. "Well, guess what? I
    *HATE* YOU. I HATE YOU *MORE* than you *EVER* hated ME."
    "Shampoo hate stupid Mousse," Shampoo whispered, hoarse. She
    couldn't stop her eyes from watering. "SHAMPOO HATE MOUSSE!" she
    shrieked, shielding herself.
    "Now, there." Nodoka wasn't sure what this was about, but it was
    going too far already. "I think you've both said your piece."
    Mousse didn't turn to Nodoka. "Well, I haven't." He took a deep,
    hot breath. "Every time you hit me, every time you said you HATED me,
    EVERY SINGLE TIME you HURT me, I NEVER thought to pay you BACK for your
    VERY GENEROUS feelings." He clenched his fists, and grit his teeth. "I
    must have been REALLY fucked-up. You AREN'T *WORTH* ALL - THAT - SHIT."
    He saw her swallow her breath, eyes huge. "So WHAT, if you're
    PRETTY, you're stacked and SEXY, or you're a GOOD FIGHTer. You were a
    CUNT! You were such a FUCKING - STUCK - UP - *BITCH*! You were NEVER
    nice to ANYONE and you ALWAYS had to show EVERYONE how PERFECT you are!"
    "THAT NOT TRUE!" Shampoo shook her head violently, as horrified at
    his tone as at what he meant. "Great-great-grandmama-"
    "I took abuse from HER because she TRAINED me, and she was FAIR.
    But YOU ALWAYS - *ALWAYS* - had to make SURE that I would SUFFER. And I
    CAME BACK FOR *MORE*!" He almost screamed, incoherent in his fury.
    "EVERYONE *HATED* you for being SO smug and OVERbearing. They WANTED
    Ranma to BEAT you SO BADLY you WOULD just *DIE*!"
    "ENOUGH!" Nodoka slapped Mousse hard. "I MAY not have SEEN my SON
    in *TEN* YEARS, but Ranma would NEVER hurt a woman." She turned around,
    but her anger had not subsided. "What kind of MAN would BEAT UP a woman?
    What kind of man are YOU?" She knelt down gingerly, then wrapped her
    arms around Shampoo to comfort the Amazon, who was mumbling to herself in
    Chinese. "You CANNOT hurt a woman the way that YOU just did to HER, NO
    MATTER *what* she did to you."
    Mousse's arms fell to his sides, and he swayed, as though nodding
    to whatever Shampoo was saying. After a moment, he straightened himself,
    and breathed out, a long dragged breath. "I'm sorry, madam. I'm sure
    that Ranma has been keeping to his vow. He is, after all, a man among
    men." He took another breath, then dropped down, squatting. "I'm sorry,
    too, Shampoo."
    She stopped in mid-snort. "M-Mousse...?" She rubbed her eyes,
    which were puffy by now. "M-Mousse... no hate Shampoo? No hate Shampoo
    no more?"
    Mousse smiled, a small, easy, even warm smile. "No, Shampoo. I
    don't hate you." He stood up, and offered an arm to the two ladies.
    While Mrs. Saotome glared at him, she still took his assistance -
    Shampoo, on the other hand, seemed even more teary-eyed.
    When she rubbed the fresh tears out, Shampoo leapt at Mousse,
    hugging him fiercely along the neck. She clamped down on her mouth, not
    daring to say anything. For a couple of seconds, they stayed like this,
    then Mousse gently pushed her off.
    Nodoka watched her guard kneel down to pick up the assorted
    condiments and food additives on the ground, while the Chinese girl, who
    she remembered from the grocery a few days ago, stood still, confused.
    Mousse hid the items in his sleeves, then turned to Shampoo. "You
    guys can't be finished deciding who Ranma's going to marry, so you go
    back there, now. Go on, now."
    Kuno finally came to, at the sound of the door sliding closed. He
    sat up, watching the bespectacled man with long hair (Mousse) sitting
    down. The lady (mother?) sat herself back down facing him. He returned
    the towelette to her and bowed in gratitude. That was when he heard
    something made of plastic smash itself open wetly.
    Happosai chuckled to himself, peering into the hole in the roof
    where he had let his payload fall down onto the unsuspecting man's head.
    Now, though, he only had one water pistol left, and this one had HIS name
    on it. He had to expose the traitor to everyone at this farce. But
    where was he? He jumped down next to the pond and saw the chaos in the
    receiving room.
    Kodachi had just entered the room, but she saw him fall from the
    sky outside the room. "There you are, lover!" she screamed, and almost
    intentionally crashed into the center table. She skipped along the mess
    and jumped to the pond, except that she was caught in mid-air.
    Nabiki grinned from ear to ear as she pulled down the Kuno. Not
    only did he get himself dirty and covered with paint, he also changed
    into a girl again. What a silly, silly boy! Strange how he looks a bit
    like his sister - what was her name again? Good thing she had a kettle
    ready under the table, kept smoking by the foot-warming heater. Nabiki
    upended the steaming water on the hapless girl struggling ferally in her
    grip. Now why wasn't he changing? Then she noticed that Kodachi had a
    ponytail, while Tatewaki had short hair in either gender.
    From the street, Tsubasa heard her scream from just outside the
    ruined wall, and jumped into the far corner of the yard of the Tendo
    estate. In the distance, he saw her rushing out of the house, wearing a
    long white tunic. She seems a little disoriented, he thought, sure that
    the person he saw was indeed Kodachi, with her telltale tuft of curly
    hair, and her ponytail. He rushed over to her side.
    Hinako had to remove the blindfold, even though the nice doctor
    with glasses said that she should. Too bad, he wasn't around to tell her
    to put the blindfold back in place. Soun wasn't around either. Phooey.
    Who just screamed, then? She looked out, and saw a girl covered in
    different colors of paints wearing only shorts. She, obviously, was a
    delinquent, and needed to be dealt with. Since her dress was now loose
    again, she dug around her pockets for a coin.
    Unfortunately for him, Hiroshi woke up at that point, smarting a
    bit from the shiner Sayuri gave him for overindulging in his position and
    her passion-addled gestures. He, too, noticed that Tsubasa was
    definitely not going to set any fashion trends wearing a paint-and-boxers
    ensemble to a wedding, but the fact that he now sported a complete
    transvestite outfit, with added bounce. He pointed to Tsubasa's
    cleavage, and soon found himself flitting about in the slight breeze,
    along with a leotard-clad Kodachi, who did not know any better.
    Daisuke chuckled a bit, knowing that whether or not Shampoo used a
    hypnotic mushroom, his friend would still point at anyone's cleavage, as
    long as it was as easy to view as Tsubasa's was. So, apparently,
    including himself, there were three of them that were now also changing
    into girls, and he knew that the total count was much higher. He also
    assumed that the culprit was the perverted master of Anything-Goes
    Martial Arts, Happosai. Somehow, the old pervert must have found a way
    to curse people to change into girls with water. And why not? He was
    making Nerima a smörgåsbord of female flesh. Now if he could also figure
    out why the food was making people act so strangely.
    Yuka was halfway done braiding her friend's hair, and wouldn't be
    finishing anytime soon. She got the idea from watching Akane's sister,
    Kasumi, braid her father's hair when he started to pick a fight with Dr.
    Tofu. She even borrowed a set of ear muffs, which she figured was very
    handy in a house full of martial artists if you needed to mend some
    clothing.
    Kasumi was sitting next to a completely silent Shampoo. Though
    they were both watching Ranma and Akane shout and scream at each other,
    she could tell that the purple-haired girl was no longer concerned with
    the outcome of their argument. She didn't even seem to make a move to
    slip anything into his rice bowl.
    The now-youngest Tendo had tried to revive Cologne by finding some
    miso soup to feed her, since that seemed to get everyone spirited, but
    she seemed to have run out. So she had Dr. Tofu heat the pot of soup
    that Nabiki made her earlier. She also told him to have some himself, if
    he wanted to try it. Since she told him to do that almost a full ten
    minutes ago, she just assumed that he did have some, so she asked her
    father to bring it in. Of course, she insisted that he not have any.
    Case in point, Soun entered the room with a soup bowl, and a ladle.
    Since no one complained about it, Soun did not notice that the two-tail
    braids did not match his mustache at all. He set the bowl on the low
    table.
    The stretch-edition Hinako had already chased the obscenely-dressed
    girl and her strangely-dressed companion full-way round the house, but
    now had lost track of her. But now she found Soun, and gladly made her
    way back to the room to sidle up next to him, much like a large female
    cat on the prowl.
    Intent on ignoring them, Kasumi quarter-turned, and went to dumping
    the entire bowl's contents into Cologne's mouth. Then she stood up to
    return the bowl to the kitchen.
    The Amazon matron's eyes bugged out as the warm gruel took a short
    dive into her stomach, and then she proceeded to shake, shudder, spasm,
    sputter, splash and splat back down to the tatami. Her direct-line
    descendant gave her a lazy eye, and turned back to watching the couple at
    the head.
    Ranma was, after quite a bit of circular argument and tangential
    interrogation, sure that Akane had not seen Ukyo since they came from the
    Ucchan's two days ago, and so he was sure that the meal before him was
    not Ryoga's last stand. He had been dodging blows and Akane's
    accusations that he had seeing Miss Hinako, Yuka, Shampoo as a cat and
    that old lady that splashes water behind her back last night, even though
    it was chronologically impossible, since he was with her. He was already
    worried that he wasn't going to be able to get it through her thick head
    that he WANTED to marry her, dammit!
    "Quit it, will ya, Akane? You want proof?" He picked up the bowl
    of "Vengeful Pork". "Hey, everybody! Look here!" Without giving
    everyone enough time to turn and look, he opened his mouth and stuffed it
    with the entirety of Akane's heartfelt meal.
    Everyone stopped, and waited for Ranma to swallow the enormous
    serving. Swallow he did - and his eyes flew open wide.
    He opened his mouth - and belched loudly.
    Ranma bowed to the assembled applause, thanking everyone heartily.
    Even Akane seemed pleased by Ranma's reaction, if not relieved that he
    ate it all.
    Having finally wiped herself clean of paint that had dripped on
    her, Nabiki stood up, and went to fetch Nodoka and whoever was in the
    master guestroom to the receiving room to pass judgment, and to find tea
    for the priest.
    As the world-wise Tendo sister passed by the door on her way to the
    guestroom, Kasumi and a sleepy teenaged Tofu exited the kitchen, missing
    her by seconds. At the guestroom, she told Nodoka that the time was here
    and told Kuno that his sister was here. She still had to look for
    Mousse, so she took a right to the back of the house, where the bath and
    the path to the dojo was.
    From the bath, Mousse emerged, fully male again. He was surprised,
    well-aware that somehow he had come into contact with Jusenkyo water once
    more. He always assumed that if he did, hypothetically, fall into the
    Spring of Drowned Young Girl, that he would just turn into a young female
    duck, but apparently this wasn't the case. Seeing Nodoka and Kuno exit
    the guestroom, he beckoned to his companion to follow.
    Tsubasa learned the basics of the Jusenkyo curse from Mousse, which
    made him feel better about things. He had a random thought that maybe
    because he was cross-dressing so often that he ended up growing boobs.
    Nice firm and round ones, too. Just like Ukyo's... err... Anyways,
    Mousse was nice enough to loan him another tunic (but no extra pants,
    since Mousse was wearing his Wear-Anywhere Blast-Proof Extra-Durable
    Dockers with Stain-Guard, and he didn't need a spare), he wanted
    something extra to keep him from being recognized, so Mousse loaned him
    The Man from Ganymede.
    Nabiki thought that she had finally caught up to Mousse, but when
    the person she caught turned, Tsubasa was wearing a gaudy plastic facial
    mask. The Tendo girl let him go, breathing heavily, and went to the
    kitchen to fix up some tea.
    The Shinto priest, who was much calmed down with his mint tea,
    coughed a bit, to address the congregation, and coughed a bit louder to
    cue the groom and his prospective bride to keep quiet.
    "Well, then, we've gathered here to test the marriage between these
    two members of the Anything-Goes School of Martial Arts. As members of
    this School, they are enjoined to learn and to challenge every and all
    that they meet, and to join in matrimony means not only that they must
    learn from and challenge each other daily, but also that they have,
    indeed, found sparring partners for the rest of their lives.
    "As they have presented themselves to the world at large to test
    the strength of their resolve in this union, so the world is saddled with
    the burden of proving this coupling unfit." He smiled, since the next
    words were much more familiar. "Whosoever has any reservations with the
    marriage of this man and this woman, speak now, or concede your defeat."
    It took a full five seconds before he spoke, "I have something to
    say."
    Everyone turned to the pond to look at Happosai. Luckily, Kodachi
    was still groggy and was much easier to restrain, from jumping up, or
    from throttling herself.
    "Speak," the priest intoned.
    "I have a question for the father of the bride."
    Soun straightened his gi-top and approached his mentor. "I-Is
    anything wrong, m-master?" He only hoped that the master was not looking
    for revenge for yesterday.
    "Soun, m'boy, how can you let them get married?"
    The Tendo patriarch looked confused. "What do you mean, master?
    Ranma is a suitable husband for Akane."
    "You fool!" Happosai spat, jumping toward him.
    Hinako used the height of her more adult body to push Soun away, so
    it was that both of them were doused.
    "How could you let your daughter marry your SON?!"
    Ranma stood up from his seat, but his statement died in his throat,
    as he saw Soun Tendo stand up, a wet twin-pigtailed twentyish woman with
    a full head of red hair.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    (Detach here)
    THE END
    Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!
    Aherm... okay. Got that out of my system. Guess what, folks?
    This is actually the TWIST. This is where Book II is supposed to jump
    off and finally resolve this situation. Of course, there's still an
    epilogue (or two) that will be cleaning up the aftermath of this chapter,
    and establish the themes for what would have been the second leg of the
    series, if I were at all persuaded to write it. Actually, if I could
    convince anyone ELSE to write it.
    God, in the early anime, Yuka has such a horrible haircut. And
    it's fun to note things that a lot of people miss out on. Gotta remember
    to talk about Tofu's wedding competition. ^_^
    Anyway, peace and out, for the moment. Read the epilogue, and give
    me a holler. If I haven't been too keen on criticism, especially advice
    on how to write the rest of the series, it's because I've been intent on
    a style, and I wasn't going to let anyone (including my well-meaning
    friends) tell me otherwise. And I had too many balls in the air to say
    why or why not. Now you know what I know.
    Well, here are my balls, whatcha think?
    (Detach here)
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    


	28. Herbs and Spices: Epilogue


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch Epilogue (22 Secret Herbs & Spices) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny-weeny thanks to whoever else
    even saw this. I guess it's all over now except for the crying. Kudos.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    The end was near.
    Ryoga sat up on her bed, and stared at the window. It was a
    beautiful day, with the sun dipping from its noontime throne. Unlike the
    real summer, it was already at its peak a bit away from the ceiling of
    the sky. The only clouds in the air were wispy, cottony effects drawn
    in, spreading the blue evenly along the rest of the heavens.
    He tried to stand up, but her arm stopped him. It was actually his
    idea, the bandanna tying their wrists together. The last time he did
    this, it was in a fight with Ranma. "Now, you can't run away."
    He didn't want to leave Ukyo. He didn't want to walk away from
    her. He just wanted to relieve himself.
    From the looks of things, he was already keeping it in for a good
    half-hour or so, when he woke up sneezing. Sweat was already making his
    shirt wet and anything wet was making him antsier by the second.
    He didn't want to look at Ukyo, contenting himself with the fact
    that she was sleeping soundly, not hiccuping, not crying, sounding as
    satisfied with the world at large as anyone asleep would. He knew –
    knew! - that, once again, under that wraparound she was au naturel waist
    up, and much as she was not flaunting it, he'd had enough experience to
    know that if he turned now, he'd probably have more of a look than any
    peeper would have the amazing fortune to have.
    It was the first time that he slept with someone in his arms.
    Well, she was the first person that he had slept with (just sleep) that
    he felt completely, utterly at peace sleeping with, this their second
    time, apparently. With Akane, he was fully and utterly embraced (when
    she wasn't in deep sleep – otherwise, he was pretty much a stressball),
    but he never got to hug her back, and that was (he would never tell
    anyone) the most horrible thing to feel.
    If there was something that Ukyo seemed to love doing in her sleep,
    it was hugging someone tightly and rolling around with them. When she
    did that hours earlier, he could do nothing but hug her tightly back –
    and was immediately reminded why he didn't want to do so. Much as Ukyo's
    torso was enviably muscled, lean yet meaty, there was quite a bit of less
    tight, much softer flesh that tended to bounce instead of resist, and
    cushioned well on his chest and along the sides of his arms as they
    tumbled.
    Funny thing was that it must've been the second time he was wrapped
    as tightly as that with someone was with this kid way way back. This
    ninja kid. He wrinkled his nose. They got tied up in his rhythmic gym
    ribbon. He just made sure to cut themselves out of it when the ninja kid
    fell asleep. Instead of discarding the ribbon, Ryoga used to wear it as
    a headband, before he got the bandanna on his trip to China.
    Why would he be so sentimental about a ribbon anyway? Because that
    ninja kid was the first girl he'd slept with? Feh. She even wore a bow
    tie in her hair.
    Bow tie?
    He made the mistake that he'd made often enough and confirmed that
    Ukyo had nice soft flesh beckoning under her bow tie. Now he had to
    untie himself to dispose of the nosebled-bandanna in the waste basket.
    Then he smelled it – perfume.
    Mousse couldn't believe his eyes. Which was okay, because that
    usually got him into trouble, anyway.
    What was so unbelievable was that the fifteen-year-old girl in
    front of him now was his master and mentor for the last fourteen years.
    Cologne finally finished combing her luxurious black hair, which
    stretched down below the hem of her dress, which now clung to her bottom.
    He could not bring himself to ogle her, although she was pretty much ogle
    material. He tried to convince himself by reasoning that the last time
    Cologne looked like this, the world had not even seen a camera then.
    The way that the Amazon matron was eyeing herself was not helping
    his composure one bit. At least she stopped at trying to gauge what bra
    size she'd be needing to purchase.
    "Not bad," she said. And then she fixed her eyes on the seated
    Mousse. Then, slowly, she bent her knees forward. And then some more.
    And then she leaned back too far and fell back, legs in the air.
    She cackled, which now sounded like a throaty delighted laugh.
    "Haven't done that in a while." She arranged herself, and leaned her
    knees on the ground first, seating herself the same way Mousse was
    seated.
    She closed her eyes, and Mousse followed suit. The next few
    moments were not going to be easy, and they both wanted to be able to
    still the emotions that were going to make it worse than it needed to be.
    He breathed out deeply. She did so, as well.
    "Mousse of the Joketsuzuko (Amazon) tribe," she started in a
    stately tone, enunciating the parenthesized word rather obliquely, "you
    have stolen an assortment of secret herbs and spices from the stores of
    the Cat Cafe, a local outpost and embassy of the Joketsuzuko (Amazon)
    tribe. In this list," she turned the list around, so Mousse can read it
    normally, "are the items that have been found missing. Do you deny this
    charge?"
    Mousse gave the list a once-over. "No, Elder."
    "These herbs and spices were also found to be used by unauthorized
    parties, identified as Kasumi and Akane Tendo, in a competition against a
    member of the Joketsuzuko (Amazon) tribe, Shampoo." She noticed the
    variety in expression that fleetingly happened upon Mousse's face. "As
    you were the last authorized handler of these properties, you are
    responsible and liable for any misuse. Do you deny this charge?"
    "No, Elder." He sat unmoved.
    "Finally, you had interfered with Shampoo's participation in the
    challenge to the marriage of Akane Tendo to Ranma Saotome, which is an
    official action of the Joketsuzuko (Amazon) tribe, sanctioned and
    monitored by an Amazon Elder." She sighed. "Do you know what would've
    happened if Akane had eventually married son-in-law?"
    Mousse ventured, "Shampoo would have given Akane the kiss of death
    and would've killed her or else be killed?"
    She shook her head. "In the case of official action not hosted by
    the tribe, Shampoo would have forfeited all rights to marrying son-in-law
    as a secondary wife." She didn't add that Shampoo might have had to
    carry the stigma of defeat by an outsider woman for the rest of her life,
    as long or as short as that would have been.
    "As though being anyone's second fiddle would have suited her."
    Mousse snorted in derision.
    "By then, I would have told her to consider marrying you, child."
    This Cologne said softly, calmingly. It seemed to work, because Mousse
    did not react in the slightest. "You are still the tribe's undisputed
    Master of Hidden Weapons, as your mother was before you."
    That, however, made him cringe a bit. "I know that she was Mousse
    before me. She will be Mousse once more." He knew what to expect, and
    was ready, or he was hoping that he was ready.
    Again, Cologne's raven tresses shook side-to-side. "Not quite."
    Here she looked Mousse in the eyes. "As you are a member of the
    Joketsuzuko (Amazon) tribe, the law should exact its entire weight upon
    you for your actions. However, as a man, and to be born of an outsider,
    there are leeways that are taken into account." She smiled, a tug of
    bitterness in the corners. "Men were not made to live in a world run by
    women - just as women aren't made to live in a world run by men. I, as
    Joketsuzuko Elder and Ambassador of the Chinese Amazons, hereby strip you
    of your rank of Mousse, Master of Hidden Weapons, and revoke your
    affiliation with the Joketsuzuko (Amazon) tribe. Your possessions you
    may keep, including everything you have packed in there." She pointed to
    his robe. "You have earned it, through service, son. Including whatever
    you chose to take in spite, so including all the herbs and spices that
    started this inquiry."
    "You'll just let me take them?" Ex-Mousse was incredulous. "I
    thought you'd -"
    "- have you executed? Over leaves, twigs, roots and fragrant
    flowers? You do know that we grow those by the acre back in China. They
    are not important. What IS important, Mousse," she intoned, "is why
    you're HERE."
    "Why am *I* here? At the Tendo's house? Kasumi brought me home."
    Even to himself, the half-Amazon sounded smug.
    "Not here, now. Why are you in Japan, Mousse?"
    He stopped in mid-smirk, then started to darken his expression.
    "That's right. You went here after Shampoo. And I let you stay
    because of that. And you were always free to leave. But, didn't you
    have a conversation with your mother before you left the village?"
    The nearly-blind man wondered why this was important right now, but
    he tried to comply anyway. He tried to remember, and it was hard because
    he couldn't see clearly, and he did have on his glasses.
    "We... had a fight." He seemed hesitant to continue, but he did
    that. "A long, drawn-out fight. She didn't want me to leave the
    village, to leave her...," realization was dawning on his features
    slowly, "... until I mentioned that I was going here, to Japan, to Tokyo,
    to Nerima."
    "Exactly," Cologne demurred. "In fact, by that time, she was
    whole-hearted in her support of your trip."
    "She *wanted* me to be in Nerima," he stated the obvious, then
    asked the default follow-up. "But, why?"
    "Why, Mousse, did I laboriously teach you and your mother Japanese?
    Why would I bother to teach an Amazon who spend his entire life in the
    village the language of an *outsider*?"
    His eyes widened suddenly, and he was bowled over with the
    knowledge. "My... father? Is he... in Tokyo?" Cologne's encouraging
    eyes gave him a logical push. "Is he... in Nerima?"
    Cologne finally smiled, something radiant. "That he is, son. But
    not right now. But your siblings are here."
    "My siblings? My... brother? Twin brother? And little sister?"
    "Yes, yes, and you just met them again today." There was a wicked
    gleam in her eyes. "And I think your little sister Kodachi will make for
    a fine Mousse, don't you, my dear Kara-tachi Kuno?"
    He was on the roof again, of course.
    He did not want to leave - could not leave - not now, not ever, not
    ever, ever again.
    He could not leave her.
    "Akane..." He did not think that she could hear his step,
    imperceptibly loud on the shingles, but she did - she knew it all along.
    That was why she finally came out, on the roof.
    "Akane," he repeated, "everybody's been worried sick about you... I
    mean, you left so fast."
    "Who..." she finally said, stretching the vowel to its faint loss.
    "Who... did you marry...?"
    "No one..." Ranma quickly said, stopped where he was by her pointed
    and mildly rhetoric question. "Shampoo didn't come back, and the
    Kodachis didn't try nothing."
    "Happosai..." she said, biting off the name of the lech as though
    he was passed away, wistfully. "He... he said..."
    Ranma traced downward slides along her cheeks. "You've been
    crying..."
    "No..." She tried to summon more strength, but her voice lacked
    the backbone, the solid earth, the very reality to it - its very core,
    weak. "Yes. Yes - Ranma..."
    "I'm here."
    It was the first time that he had not pulled away, the first time
    that he had taken her hand, held her shoulder, cared for her, CARED FOR
    HER, DAMMIT, given her the brass ring...
    She sobbed into his shoulder, tears that were warm and full of love
    and life and what-ifs, tears that would have changed him, changed him
    from the boy she had never thought he'd be, back into the man she had
    always known to be her love, her one.
    "W-Wicked..." she muttered, "F-F-Fate..."
    He held her head, gingerly rubbing the strands of her hair,
    smelling her thoughts, knowing her soul, wishing he could do something,
    anything...
    But there was no monster, no kidnapping, no technique, no grabby
    female, nothing but past catching up to them. He loved her - HE LOVED
    HER - the only truth that mattered at this point - did not matter at all.
    His whole truth, his whole life, was a lie.
    The man he knew as his father was a complete stranger.
    And the woman he would risk life and limb for, the woman that had
    already done so, just to know if she had loved him, too (and she did),
    would be taken away from him - never to return, yet never to leave his
    side.
    Akane never thought she would ever see him cry.
    She did not see it, no, but he was crying, sobbing into her hair,
    burying himself. She sniffed, as well, but knew that he was hurting much
    worse than she herself had ever hurt.
    She ran her hand along his back, feeling the unevenness of his
    breathing. Her own sobs were trailing now, and a last sniffle, before
    she awkwardly tried to reach up and put a hand to the back of his head.
    He didn't notice, and he just continued to shed the tears that ran
    down beneath the bridge of their intimacy, troubled water. He sobbed
    carelessly, fully, and at one point Akane just wanted to sit upright and
    hold him in her arms until he would stop crying, but she knew that he
    would never want her to see his tears, never want her to hear him say
    those words...
    "I love you," he whispered, and she knew, knew, too late... as if
    having heard them would change the wrongness, the mockery, the
    hypocrisy...
    I love you, too, Ranma, she mouthed into his shoulder. I love you,
    I love you, I love you... maybe if she said them often enough, they would
    be true, truer than true, enough to wash away the last hour, the last
    year, the time when her father had given him life... and he wouldn't be
    here. Neither would she, on the roof, so terribly, terribly in love with
    the man whose words and actions hurt her most, but whose eyes she would
    have forever stared at, whose arms she would have never left, if they
    would just take her away...
    Her lips found his, softly, pleadingly, embracing him as deeply as
    she could, only a hint of never in her kiss. It met a tear as it crossed
    the point of his mouth, like a handkerchief when she herself had none
    left dry. But his sadness, his soft bitterness, the cold that he felt at
    the pit of his stomach - she wanted it, she wanted to swallow it and show
    him her own. She caressed the edge of his mouth, opened her lips a
    little more, then a little more, trailing along his thinning lips, hoping
    that he wouldn't shut her out now.
    She felt light, knowing that she was falling over the edge, his
    hand slipping from hers, and the tears came back, and she shook in a low,
    terrible shudder, as her kisses couldn't touch him...
    He caught her in a strong, deep, simple kiss. Akane felt his arms
    tighten around her fiercely, and he was shaking, too, lost, afraid, but
    his only safety was in her arms, in her eyes, in her loving kiss. Almost
    apologetically, he kept their mouths locked seconds longer than they both
    wanted, but in a shared warm breath, they kissed again, softer, feverish,
    rubbing against and along each other...
    "You CANNOT be serious."
    The reception room now looked as pristine as it usually did when
    there was no threat to the sanctity or the sanity of the Tendo household.
    This was one of those crises that kept it messiness outside the realm of
    simple housecleaning.
    "It is NOT fair that you two will NOT just clear things UP so that
    the two little LOVEbirds can get married."
    Nodoka just supped her tea, and turned her head to look at Soun.
    The Tendo head was back to his old hairstyle and his old gender, looked
    about as grim as he could look. "Listen now, Nabiki."
    His daughter shrugged back and crossed her arms across her chest.
    "Unless you are going to tell me that you are going to get that Shinto
    priest back here to finish the wedding ceremony, I am not interested."
    She sat back, and waited for her father to continue his statement, but he
    trailed off.
    Nabiki sighed loudly, and leaned forward. "Look, I understand that
    you guys wouldn't want to see them get married so soon, what with what
    they were doing in the dojo in the wee hours of the morning, but we had
    that whole 'come one, come all' competition, and it would just NOT do any
    good if the others thought that EVERYTHING was back to status quo here.
    And they WANT to tie the knot, guys." She shifted to negotiator. "If
    you guys are concerned that they'd just be at each other like minks in
    heat, we'll just have them keep sleeping in separate rooms and keep the
    wedding hush-hush until they graduate." She waited for a reaction, but
    none was forthcoming. "Oh, come on, guys! You can't SERIOUSLY be
    suggesting -!"
    Mr. Tendo was terse. "You know full well, Nabiki, that I would be
    the last person to keep Ranma and Akane from getting married, thus
    ensuring the future of the Tendo School of Anything-Goes Martial Arts.
    The master himself seems assured that Ranma must, in fact, be my son, and
    correctly surmised that if I was doused with the same cursed spring water
    that has plagued Ranma, that my hair would turn a damning crimson." He
    lit a cigarette, and puffed on it thoughtfully. "As this by itself was
    circumstantial evidence at best, and if it was entirely impossible for
    such a feat to have happened, I would be quick to dissuade everyone." He
    turned to Nodoka.
    Nabiki's eyes widened considerably. "IF it was impossible?" She
    looked at the two adults, and covered her agape mouth. "You... you
    two... had...?"
    "It IS ironic, really," Nodoka said. "The first Anything-Goes
    Martial Arts Marriage Challenge was *my* wedding. And I was supposed to
    marry my sweetheart." Then she turned to Soun once more.
    "OH ... MY ... *GOD* ..." Nabiki uncovered her mouth, the smile
    completely candid. "Dad, Auntie - I never knew!" She pulled out a small
    black book and started scribbling. "My family is SO entertaining!"
    "Your family is SO entertaining, Miss Tendo!"
    Kasumi eyed the other twelvish(-looking) girl with a fair amount of
    sharpness. It didn't help that she was trying to interpose herself
    between the teacher and the now mid-teen Tofu, who had his glasses tucked
    away with his gi, all of which was now in a plastic bag he was carrying.
    She had to admit, Ranma's ignored school uniform fit him well.
    The four students, who they were accompanying, were hanging behind,
    and Daisuke was nattering about how the three brown-haired people in
    front of them were all older than they themselves were, and how one could
    easily mistake them for siblings, if not close relations. Hiroshi was
    still a little drained, and was draped in-between them, and Yuka was
    still very much affected by the day's proceedings. Hikaru, of course,
    was lagging further behind, but Daisuke did not feel up to bringing his
    oft-time arcade partner into the circle.
    He felt feverish, he felt giddy, he felt sick to the pit of his
    stomach. He wanted to get out of this damned dress, because it was
    starting to leave a crease line along the tops of his thighs, and how did
    they get so big? And he hated how he seemed to be pulling it down every
    ten steps, how drafty it felt, and how uncomfortable it felt while he
    walked. He had newfound respect for Shampoo and anyone who's ever had to
    wear a dress for which he'd so often thanked the God of Designers. He
    had added respect for Ranma – the guy could roll with the punches, and
    this kind of sucker punch could leave any guy crying "low blow".
    But the three in front of them, he thought, they've all had their
    bodies mucked with as well. Who, as Hiroshi would no doubt put it, was
    at a greater advantage: he, who could (theoretically) explore the
    greatest and most wondrous final frontier; or, they, who could relive
    the days of their youth with the view of mature adults? Not that he
    would, y'know, explore his feminine side, because Yuka would definitely
    not approve. It wouldn't be fair, is all. And not because he could do
    it, while she couldn't, it... it would just be wrong. So why was he so
    bothered by the fact that Hiroshi would quite eagerly and handily do the
    exploring on himself, if he could?
    Daisuke wondered if his family would now need to get a bathtub.
    God knows a trip to the public baths was now impossible.
    It would have surprised him to find out that Yuka was also thinking
    about a trip to the public baths as well.
    The door slid open.
    "No!" The door slid closed, and a body blocked the doorway.
    "Get out of the way, Ukyo." He didn't want to sound so savage, but
    he really was in a hurry. "I can't BELIEVE you'd want to help Ranma get
    married to Akane."
    "It's a CHALLENGE, Ryoga!" She was too groggy, too damned groggy.
    She leaned forward, and he caught her, easily, but she did not move more
    than that. "If Akane wins... I didn't want Akane to get hurt!"
    "You wouldn't have hurt her, Ukyo." For a moment, his fingers
    touched her neck-band, and he drew his fingers just as quickly. "But
    what if Ranma... or Mr. Tendo, or Ranma's father... what if, what if -?"
    "What IF, Ryoga!" Ukyo pushed him back, onto the counter around
    her grill. "What if we just let things HAPPEN?" She held his shoulders.
    "What if we let today pass BY, and THEN find out?" He saw her eyes go
    wild, darting along his face, hopeful. "WHAT if, what IF, what if..."
    Her hands flew to his neck, his nape, manic, trailing, and she buried her
    face in his hair.
    Again, a moment, his eyes were on her bow, on her lovely neck, and
    for all the world he wanted to take her in his arms, to kiss her and to
    make her promises to make her happy, to start and to end in a lie. He
    stood up straight, and pushed her to a side.
    "What if we stay together, Ukyo?" He let her hair tangle in his
    fingers, then drew them away. "Is THAT why you threw the invitation in
    the trash, Ukyo? For," he pointed vaguely along a line connecting them,
    "us?" A pause. "There IS no 'us', Ukyo. We've always been after them,
    all this time. Even after this time."
    She had her head bowed. "That, that's..."
    "Wrong? Am I wrong, Ukyo? Will you tell me you l- that you need
    me more than you need Ranma? Or that I, I can be happier with you than I
    would be with Akane? How would WE know?"
    He wanted to stop. He wanted to stop her tears as they fell. He
    wanted to take his words back, but he knew they needed to be said. He
    wished she would slap him, or beat him up, or even curse at him, but she
    was beyond that, she was in a world of tears and sorrow, and he wanted
    her to come with him, he wanted her to assure him that it was right to do
    what was right, and not be burned by her sobbing, her wailing, her short
    shuddering breaths, her wordless tears that screamed at him to do what he
    damn well pleased.
    So he ran out before she saw him cry for her. He even got a block
    away before he tripped himself, turning around in mid-stride. He slipped
    and rolled backward, curling into a ball until he crashed into a wall.
    I'm sorry, Ukyo, I'm sorry. Ranma'd better appreciate you. I'll
    kill him if he makes you cry like that. Then Ryoga head-butted the wall
    as hard as he could.
    "WRERH?"
    "Eh?!"
    To Ryoga's surprise, a completely naked pale teenaged girl was
    standing beyond the now-ruined wall.
    To Ryoga's additional surprise, the girl looked pleased to see him,
    turned and jumped on him.
    It was only when she was rubbing his side with her naked belly that
    he noticed that the right half of her body was completely dark-toned.
    "What in the world is going on?" Then he promptly nose-bled and
    lost consciousness.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    (Detach here)
    I don't buy everything I read
    I haven't even read everything I've bought
    I don't cry every time I bleed
    My eyes are dry but they're bloodshot
    I have faith in medication
    I believe in the Prozac nation
    You play doctor but I've lost patience
    This is where it ends
    Yeah, this is where it ends
    ~ Call the police and call the press
    But, please, dear God, don't tell my friends
    This is where it ends
    This is where it ends
    Where's my pride? Where's my self-esteem?
    Does it show in the things I've bought?
    I don't hide every time I'm seen
    But I try not to get caught
    I make excuses for behavior
    Can my illness be my savior?
    Kept my heart while you still gave yours
    This is where it ends
    Yeah, this is where it ends ~
    She says she wants to live in a movie
    I say I want someone else
    To stand behind me and write it all down
    'Cause I can't be bothered doing it myself
    And I don't want the responsibility
    Of proving its importance
    I have learned; I have waited
    Been picked up and I've been sedated
    Mental health is overrated
    This is where it ends
    Yeah, this is where it ends ~
    - "This is Where It Ends" by the Barenaked Ladies
    from the album "Born on a Pirate Ship"
    Kara-tachi is probably the best sword-related term that I can glean
    from Google, because being named Katana Kuno or Nodachi Kuno is just
    plain kooky. "Kara-tachi" is an early style of sword and means Chinese
    sword.
    Well, no apologies, no regrets. It was a fun ride, and I've always
    wanted to relinquish the driver's seat halfway. I do that at karaoke.
    Hope whoever out there that is reading this is mad, because that's the
    point. It wasn't the point when I started, but you should never expect
    the point to be the same, especially when essayed the way I have.
    Read, write, wonder why, and never forget to say thank you.
    (Detach here)
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    


	29. Odds and Ends: The End of Switch


    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Switch Part 13 of 12: "The End of Switch" by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
    by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
    Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
    hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
    thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny-weeny thanks to whoever else
    even saw this. Wouldn't Switch be a little more understandable if we - ?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Why?
    or
    Wouldn't Life Be a Little More Understandable
    If We All Spoke English (or Japanese)?
    There are no innocent people in Nerima.
    There are only two major partitions in the populace in Nerima. The
    first of which is the one separating active and passive people - the
    active people are the main cast and some of their friends, who might have
    been passive before, except that they got witty one-liners or had to be
    first in line to be victimized by whatever monster of the week had
    arrived. The passive people had been given all their actions in passive
    voice, obviously - whereas Ranma would have the wind run through his
    hair, the random passer-by would have his hair run through by the
    self-same wind.
    Nonetheless, the wind would be thorough with the strands of hair on
    each and every single person in Nerima.
    Nerima is that kind of place - where it would make no distinctions
    on doling its inescapable attentions, it would make its choices on who
    gets to do what to who.
    The secret to this led, inevitably, below the surfa
    "What the hell?!"
    Across the room, the hand that flicked on the light switch waved
    off the animosity that came from near the low-rad screen it had managed
    to outshine.
    "Mr. Switch." The man stepped closer. An author's spider-sense
    would immediately be alerted to the fact that he was wearing genuine
    Ray-ban sunglasses, in a spiffy three-piece suit with tie, all in a
    funereal tone that said that someone somewhere was dying, and that
    someone would be joining soon.
    The author sat up and thought:
    If I'm going to be dying soon, there have to be a few things that I
    have to say. I've done a lot of things badly, a lot of things wrong.
    It's been, what? Barely four years. I've been writing for almost four
    years, and I've done nothing but gripe. [3] If I haven't given you a
    bad impression of my personality, I've probably given you such a wrong
    impression of this place, Nerima, which has been my home.
    I've never really changed my impression of this cozy little nook.
    You might have read about how I've described the weather conditions here,
    about the way the climate is accelerated. It's really nothing that
    goofy, at least before Ranma came, that is, and that the Principal from
    Hell came back, so I've heard. I mean, hearing that he came back, that
    is. I keep thinking of the canal along the way to Furinkan as a river,
    but I've always been a city boy, even back in the Philippines, so I've
    never really seen a river that clean.
    Neither have I tried to change most people's perception of this
    strange rectangle on the dot of Tokyo. You figure most of the gossip in
    school goes around the topics of who's been seen with whom, who's been
    chasing whom, who's engaged to whom, but with friends like Daisuke and
    Hiroshi (more of the latter, of course), add to that list who's been
    fighting whom, when and where did they say the challenge would take
    place, how Ranma found out about this latest move,
    But, you may wonder, what have I been doing in the last year or so?
    Wouldn't you like to know. What happened when we all graduated from
    J____? Or that last, fateful summer? Did I go to Furinkan, like all my
    friends and lover? Or, as someone with more tact would have mentioned,
    what happened between me and Yuka so that she'd end up with good ol'
    'suke-boy, and that it took me that long to mention?
    But wait, my tormentor wishes to say something.
    [3] Before that, of course, a footnote. I had wanted to try
    annotating Switch to clarify all the nitty-gritty throwaway references
    and expressions I had used in the series. [4] I tried it with the
    prologue, and ended up with 30-odd notes to tack.
    Where was I? Oh, yes. [5]
    [4] 'Twould give a Pratchett feel to it. I also tried removing the
    chapter separations, but 'twas never written in that way. Strange how
    the first parts of this series reminded people of Pratchett, when I had
    first read "Good Omens" in the second year of writing.
    Douglas Adams had always been an influence, however. I had read
    the Hitchhiker trilogy in the order of 2-5-1-4-3.
    [5] Chronicled in "In-Between the Lines", Years 1 through 3, by
    Switch, the second prequel to the Switch series, after "The Way of the
    Parting Waters", by Switch, goo, Yebah, Pervert and Vector. Unless
    anyone else is interested, episode one will never be written, nor will
    there be a third trilogy. To anyone whose interests lean toward a
    concatenated series of fanfiction, I suggest Radler's mega-crossovers.
    However, there are rumors of a "Young Switch Gets a Hand" in the
    making.
    "You seem to have a lot on your mind."
    Ah? Sorry. "Ah?"
    "A lot on your mind, Mr. Switch," he reiterated, and held a cloth
    petal of a plastic plant standing on a corner with fingers in a morbidly
    black leather glove.
    "Always liked plants," the author replied, all weary. "Too lazy to
    water, though."
    "Maybe you were a little busy doing your research." The man ran
    the hand on top of the blue water bottle on the dispenser. "Too busy."
    "Okay, okay," Switch said, noticing that the man was relishing the
    fact that no fingerprints would be found in the room. If he was not
    careful, even the author would have no fingerprints in the room.
    He shook off the sudden and unnecessary recollection of
    Encyclopedia Brown, and focussed on his companion. "Enough hyperbole.
    Is there something you're here to give me or do I have to beat it out of
    you?"
    It would be hard to believe that the short, frail-looking teenager
    would be able to make good on his threat, and the man raised his eyebrow
    to convey that remark. Daisuke knew better, at least that, if anything,
    there'd be at least a two-chapter fight from it.
    If the man were unarmed, that was.
    "You will get what is coming to you, Mr. Switch," the man assured.
    It would be easier to understand all this diplomacy if I were to
    elaborate. Let him think that I'm zoning out due to fear.
    My name is Michael, often Mike, sometimes Mikeru, recently Switch.
    Four years ago, I came to Nerima. Two years ago, Yuka and I were
    something of an item. A year ago, I thought I was going back home.
    Last summer, I went back to the motherland, touching base with the
    parents, the siblings, the dogs. Three years in Japan had been good to
    me, they said. Maybe now I should go to the special high school (t)here?
    I'd be a freshman as old as a senior.
    Funny. What was important to me was to become normal. Being a
    normal student in a special school didn't necessarily occur to me as
    something that ended up, in the absolute scale, according to my plans.
    I came back to Nerima after two weeks.
    Admittedly, the first thing I did was look for Yuka. Right after
    the big break-up, the last thing on my mind should have been looking for
    her.
    I missed her. A whole damned lot.
    I transferred to Furinkan the next week, right into 1-F. I
    remember the first time I stepped into the homeroom. The teacher had
    called me in, and I hadn't told any of them that I had come back. The
    moment I stepped through the door, I looked for her, trying to catch her
    expression.
    She was sitting next to Akane - a surprise, since they weren't that
    close in junior high - across her was Sayuri, and the two of them -
    Sayuri and Akane, that was - were talking, apparently clearing a topic
    that came in class. Yuka was writing something down, bowed over her
    hands, leaned slightly forward.
    Another step forward, and she had raised her head. She sighed,
    done with her small chore, leaning slightly back, lips in position for a
    simple kiss, it would seem now, and met my expectant eyes.
    She smiled.
    "Something about this... situation... amuses you?"
    You could feel that this was the type of man who pressed downward
    with ellipses to emphasize his point.
    "Nothing," the boy known as Switch demurred, "it's just the way I'd
    phrase it."
    As though nothing was obviously wrong, he fished in the drawers of
    the relatively low-slung desk supporting the computer's monitor for a
    free diskette. This motion was made harder by the fact that the boy was
    sitting on an air-filled bean-baggish chair. He placed the keyboard he
    was cradling on top of the printer, taking care not to jostle the nearby
    phone handset.
    He found a pink 3.5", and plugged it into the disk drive of the
    CPU, standing to the right of the desk, all carefully.
    Scene break here.
    Some people have probably figured, "he's the man."
    I'd normally respond, "'the man'?"
    They'd, of course, have to continue, "you know, the man. The guy
    who was moving around in the series. The guy who talked to Nabiki. [6]
    The guy who told Nodoka that Genma had sold Ranma to the Triad. [7] The
    man in the room with the broken switch [8], whose narrations are out of
    sequence."
    Some people are saying, "when did Nodoka think that Genma sold
    Ranma to the Triad?" Others are going, "huh?"
    Now, why would I self-insert as a completely unremarkable plot
    device? At least, that's what he seems to me. The man, I mean. How'd
    you think I'd know that he's completely unremarkable? You'd figure I'm
    just really lazy, trying to pass him off as that. You should see the
    guy. Blends in better than Tsubasa in a junkyard. And he acts just like
    a convenient plot device, right?
    Now I know this would be confusing, with the man in the room with
    me, and the completely unremarkable man in my chronicles.
    Let's say that, for clarity, the unremarkable man, the man who
    talked to Nabiki, talked to Nodoka, sleeps in a dark room, and is not me,
    his name was Bob.
    That should be a bit clearer.
    [6] Switch Book I, "The Light on the Fourth Floor".
    [7] Switch Book I, "Ten to One Against".
    [8] Switch Book I, "The Light on the Fourth Floor".
    It was funny that the chapters had titles which had numbers,
    straight from chapter one, "First Flick", through to chapter twelve, "The
    Flirty Dozen". Chapter thirteen was called "The Empty House" because I
    really felt that I wanted to poke at the superstition. "Fourteen Snakes
    and Ladders" through to "Seventeen Myths and Legends", then "Parental
    Guidance" for chapter eighteen, "Chapter 19" (really witty, non? :),
    "Twenty Questions Unanswered", "The Jack of Spades is Wild!" for
    twenty-one, then "Wheel of Fortune".
    The last is a slightly mistaken take on the Tarot deck, which has
    22 cards in the Major Arcana. "Wheel of Fortune" is numbered 21, of
    course, I think, unless you're using Hitomi from Escaflowne's deck.
    Thought break here. A really neat eye-catch, with the name
    "Switch" emblazoned in Japanese and in English. Then a neat pose of
    mine. Then a commercial about aluminum siding.
    I've always hated posing for pictures.
    That's why my space in our yearbook was a black rectangle, under a
    suspiciously American-sounding name of a Filipino transfer student in a
    Japanese junior high school. Sounds trite?
    I never bothered. Don't have a yearbook. The graduation pictures
    are enough.
    Ranma arrived about a month after I did.
    Of course I'd heard about Kuno's stupid proposal. Watched the next
    day, never bothered for the reruns.
    Of course I fit in well with the rest of the weirdos. The gang
    I've had for three years were all there, our sentai group, and even Akane
    and Hikaru were there. It was as though I'd never left, as though I'd
    never thought of leaving.
    Of course I spoke perfect(ly passable) Japanese and I was acing
    English. Been here three years, remember? I remember when it was hard
    enough getting directions to the public bath - I even remember how hard
    it was getting used to using the public bath. Still felt the need to be
    normal, though. Good thing - being Miss Hinako's pet student was not,
    despite all indications otherwise, the best of career moves. That woman
    is a back-breaker.
    Of course Yuka and me got back together.
    I wished. I wished really hard. I even asked, thrice.
    ...
    ...
    If Yuka knew everything I was doing for the past months, she'd
    probably say, "you saw Ranma and Akane naked?!" [9] She has had quite a
    nudity fixation, by the by, as most of the girls in Nerima did.
    [9] Switch Book I, "4X4 FWD/RWD". What's Book III? [10]
    [10] A little joke, of course. I wouldn't want to explain how I
    got "Tree", "Park Life", "Battle of Witlesses", "First to Last", "Letter
    #361" and "Just Damp", though. "Three White Lies" might not be
    sufficient. "Letter #361" and "Battle of Witlesses" were written that
    way because I was so bored that I wanted to try things out.
    And don't ask me how I was able to write "Battle of Witlesses" if I
    wrote "Eighth Hour's Sleep and a Moment's Dream" through "The Flirty
    Dozen".
    Come to think of it...
    "... is that why you're here?"
    "What?" The MiB was taken aback. "Come again?"
    "The way I've been writing it, I mean." Playing it cool, hmm?
    "The way I've been writing 'Switch'."
    "Oh, the way you've been writing... 'Switch'," he said with some
    distate, "has been... interesting. Too -"
    "Too interesting," Switch ended. "It's not perfect or anything,"
    he admitted.
    "But it... it explains so much," he countered.
    Switch could have mentioned similarities in his narrative to the
    Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, which, while exhaustively
    comprehensive, was mostly apocryphal. "I've had time to think about it."
    "Really?" The man (not-Bob) seemed surprised. "Doesn't seem like
    it."
    The boy (also not-Bob) flapped his mouth open, about to say
    something, but suddenly caught the gist of the last statement. It was
    sad that his brain didn't need to be consciously in control for him to
    make sounds with his mouth. "They're interesting people," it said.
    "They are," he acceded. "So much going on with them."
    This was the heart of the problem, of course.
    That is the head of the matter.
    Ranma came to Nerima one month after I did.
    Suddenly, there was nothing else anyone could talk about
    animatedly. His single-handed defeat of the athletic-club membership of
    the school was headline material, and his engagement to Akane Tendo, who
    was once the perpetually sad Madonna, now the fiery and angry
    bachelorette [11], was grist for the rumor mill. His manga-like
    hyper-powered martial-arts skills, calling out stranger single-minded
    adversaries, coupled with his mystical gender-changing abilities [12],
    made for the most popular ring of the largest circus in Tokyo, the other
    two rings covered by aliens and robots, excuse me, androids.
    Many a conversation now was opened with the line "how's about that
    Saotome today?" basically because the weather was predictably rainy when
    something was bound to happen to Ranma, and it sped up ice-breaking
    rather handily.
    I... I wasn't jealous. Surely, he was just a transfer student, a
    martial artist, as I wanted to become. Daisuke was just one belt ahead
    of me, dammit! That was a chasable goal. This... this new guy was a
    windmill.
    (Okay, so maybe even Kuno was way above my league but, gods, the
    guy had a stick. Ranma didn't even use his hands on him.)
    I... I wasn't jealous. I was curious. But I didn't want to ask
    him straight out. It wasn't right that way. I may just have been not
    curious enough.
    Then... she came along.
    I didn't notice her at first. Hell, I don't think anyone would
    notice a male transfer student anymore, until they showed an interest in
    Ranma, then an interest in rearranging the landscape with his face. Then
    he'd usually be another grumbling face in the crowd.
    Ukyo... Ukyo is different. You could tell that she's living off of
    some kind of death in her feet. I mean, no one deserves to be so sad.
    She loses her family's cart of livelihood. Then she vows revenge, gives
    up her womanhood and takes on the life of a modern samurai or something.
    And then, when she finally finds him, finds Ranma, he goes and twirls her
    head so fast she's reeling.
    I mean, how can fate be that cruel? Each time she gets to a major
    turning point, the sign always says "Detour".
    [11] Anybody would've probably snapped into annoyance with guys
    trying to beat you up just to get a date. Akane was very popular, even
    then.
    [12] It's strange that no one really knows how Ranma came about his
    "curse". There's probably some sort of dimensional displacement, some
    other world where the female Ranma comes from, otherwise the mass
    differential would probably cause chaotic thunderstorms about everywhere
    except Peking, where there was always a butterfly.
    So, anyway, I figure, I'm writing this for the company, right?
    They did say that it was a continuing work, of sorts. They must have
    some idea on how this whole situation came about. Imagine my surprise
    when I found that they had a whole library on Jusenkyo, and all the
    cursed springs, and about Nerima, and -
    Oh. Oh shit.
    "Too much," Switch concluded. He started to stand.
    "And that started me thinking," he said, pushing the boy down with
    one hand on a shoulder. "I'm thinking, 'some of those insights, some of
    those ramblings, they said too much. It's like he knows some of the
    things that are really going on.' And, suddenly, it's too late, because
    you did know it, you bastard!"
    "Hey! HEY!" He saw the gun. The shiny black barrel did not even
    end in a silencer. Hell, it was a damned shiny black-barrelled pistol,
    you can't even put a silencer on that. "You're gonna kill me because I
    wrote a damned STORY?!"
    "YOU POSTED IT ON A DAMNED MAILING LIST!!" He put an exclamation
    point on the exclamation point.
    Switch was surprised he was taking it so calmly. Then again, he
    figured it would happen, since he noticed that the last e-mail to the
    company he had cc:ed to ffml@fanfic.com.
    "As fanfiction! Fan Fiction! Fiction! You know, make-believe!"
    "It would've been that, wouldn't it? If you kept to the damned
    narrative!"
    He shot.
    "Oof." It would've probably been a scream, except that he barely
    was able to get out harm's way, the heart moved only by inches. Blood
    was flowing into the left lung.
    "Wha... what... tipped you off?" The participle hung painfully.
    "The bit... on... exporting... males?"
    The man who was not named Bob did not bother to advance. "Nope.
    You got careless, Switch. You had to write about the prince, didn't
    you?"
    Switch was coughing blood and phlegm, and knew he didn't have time
    left. "Prince...?"
    "You had to put that in, had to make her talk. You had to make the
    Storyteller weave her tale once more."
    Switch smiled crookedly. "'twas... a... good... story..."
    "But the Storyteller doesn't talk." He took aim. The boy pulled
    himself up, a very painful motion, along the desk, a hand leaning on the
    mouse. "Because I cut her tongue long ago."
    Two fingers tensed.
    Switch stared at him, blood welling in his mouth, tried to focus,
    tried to say what he wanted to say, but didn't have the breath...
    ... Rollo Tomasi...
    "Well, shit," he muttered, looking down at the profusely bleeding
    body of the writer. Then he noticed something on the computer screen.
    The Eudora mailbox logo looked different. He realized, the flag
    was down. It was up before.
    "Shit!" He sat down, tried to locate the last message sent, but
    couldn't find it.
    This was definitely worse. He had to find a way to shutdown the
    FFML before that last post was sent.
    He stood up, hearing the sirens that could not be more than three
    blocks away, and shot at the water canister.
    Unnoticed, a woman with red hair clandestinely left the apartment
    building where a tragic murder was committed that night. The suspect, a
    twenty-something man in a three-piece suit and sunglasses, could not be
    located.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    (Detach here)
    THE CHRONOLOGY OF THE COMPLETE SWITCH RANMA½ FANFICTION STORY
    The Way of the Parting Waters*
    Originally the first Ranma fanfic conceptualized in the
    series – set in feudal Japan, a sort of altered universe
    Ranma story dealing with the original Tendo dojo. Bits of
    this story are what the Storyteller mentions. And, yes, this
    is a significant part of the entirety.
    Book III: Park Life
    The origin of Tsubasa Kurenai.
    Book III: Tree
    Ryoga and Ukyo: hit and miss and miss and twenty more
    misses.
    In-Between the Lines (Years 1 through 3)*
    Another prequel, this self-insert deals with the
    junior high mis-adventures of Hiroshi, Daisuke, Sayuri, Yuka
    and a Filipino student named Mike. Very little of this has
    any significance, although it was a nice thought. A spamfic
    was written before about this. Gosunkugi, Akane, Rio the
    fortune-telling girl make appearances.
    Book III: Letter #361*
    When Kasumi dumps Dr. Tofu. A one-act play.
    Book III: First to Last*
    Let's say I wanted to substantiate the Ukyo/Ryoga
    friendship. Okay, okay, RpM, I'm not.
    Book I: Day 1
    What if people that never met in the series met?
    Book III: Just Damp
    A dream that was moist.
    Book I: Day 2
    What if we got rid of Ranma for almost one day?
    Book III: Battle of Witlesses*
    Who did the most damage at Mt. Fuji? Comic-book
    script.
    Book III: Three White Lies
    Is Ranma a boy, a girl or a cat?
    Book I: Day 3
    What if everything you ever held true was wrong?
    Book III: Goddess of Cookery*
    When I come back and finish this after three years, I
    find myself writing way too much in chapter 21, so I take out
    the cooking sequence and place it here. A Stephen Chow send-
    up.
    Book III: Why?
    I slay me.
    Book II: The Episode Scripts*
    Now, take everything that was there, make new stories
    and somehow explain this entire mess. What happened to the
    Tendos, the Saotomes, the Kunos, the Onos, the Amazons and to
    Nerima, and why it has something to do with Bob and a company
    named Switch.
    Book III: Necessity's Child*
    In a parallel dimension, paradox occurs.
    SWITCH ENDS HERE
    Ranma 1/2 is by Takahashi Rumiko, Shogakukan, Kitty TV and Viz, LLC.
    Thank you for your characters.
    I have learned much from them.
    (Detach here)
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    


End file.
